


the weave of our story

by izadreamer



Category: Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Bad Ending, Character Study, Drabble Collection, During Canon, Epic Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Moon Theory, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Tangledtober, Tangledtober 2018, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 20,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izadreamer/pseuds/izadreamer
Summary: A series of independent drabbles for Tangledtober, all under 1000 words. An exploration of stories, emotions, and the moments we didn’t see.





	1. Origin

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! The Tangled fandom is having a wonderful event called Tangledtober, and I'll be doing my best to participate!! I'm really excited for this, drabbles are so much fun, ahaha~
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> Day 1: Origin  
> Character of focus: Rapunzel

She is not sure when she first sees them, when the light first shines out the window and catches her gaze. For the first few years the windows are closed, shutters locked tight; those are the years when Rapunzel is too small for memories and too big to stay in a cradle, crawling in and out of every place, in every nook and cranny, up the stairs and on the rafters and one time even on the flowerpots in the windowsill. Mother had not liked that time very much, as she will tell Rapunzel in exasperated depth later; Mother says Rapunzel was such a handful that she had to lock all the shutters and close every door because Rapunzel kept on trying to crawl out. “What a handful you were,” Mother will say, something dark in her voice, and Rapunzel will scrunch up small and hate her younger self for putting Mother through such a thing. “And you haven’t changed a bit!”

“Mother, I…”

“I am only joking, my flower; why on earth do you always look so gloomy? Honestly, darling.”

So Rapunzel is not sure when she first sees them. It must have been after then; surely must have been, for the windows were open and the lights shone through. She can remember seeing them, watching them, and she can remember excitement, running up to her mother’s room and jumping on the bed.

“Mother, look!”

Mother had not liked that, and she had not looked. That was fine, Rapunzel had told herself, that was just fine. She would beg Mother to stay up later the next evening and she would show her then. But the lights did not come the next night, nor the night after that, nor any night since, and soon Rapunzel forgot them.

Until one night the lanterns came again; this time Rapunzel was not so foolish as to wake up Mother. _Tomorrow,_ she told herself, _I will show Mother the lights tomorrow, and she will see how pretty they are and tell me what a good girl I am, for giving her such a wonderful gift,_ and she fell asleep on the sill dreaming of a warm hand running through her hair.

But the lanterns did not come the next night, and Mother was more cross than ever.

But Rapunzel is seven now, seven and bold and fair bit cleverer. She cannot remember exactly when the lights come, but she knows they exist, she knows they are there. She is old enough now to remember years and dates, she knows before Mother tells her that it’s her birthday, she is seven—“A magical number,” Mother says, running the brush through her hair—and in 365 days she will be 8, and another 365 days later she will be nine. The world is bright, and finally makes sense to her.

She is seven, only just seven, when she pads down to the window and sees the lights rise in full for the first time. She sits on the sill and lets her feet dangle out the window; her hair, now just past her ankles, floats gently in the wind. For the first time, she watches the sun set and something else rise in its place, emerging from that glowing horizon and drifting into the darkness. Lights, brighter than even the stars, dancing in the night sky.

Rapunzel sits at her window and watches their wandering paths, watches with wide eyes as the lights bob and weave in the midnight darkness. They encircle the moon and play in the clouds, and Rapunzel watches them until the last light goes out.

It is Rapunzel’s seventh birthday. It is not the first time she has seen the lights. It is not the first time she has known them. But on this midnight hour, watched over only by the moon and summer breeze, for the first time Rapunzel sees the lights and thinks, with sudden clarity: _What if they are for me?_

She goes back inside and latches the shutters tight, just as Mother taught her, but the words remain forevermore, nestled deep in her heart and the crevasses of her soul. A question, a hope, and the beginnings of a dream.


	2. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, Tuesdays bite, ahaha. Still!! So far so good. I'm happy you guys are enjoying these prompts thus far!! (Though, please judge me kindly, I'm writing these in an exhausted haze and so my editing skills are taking a wee break, ahaha,,,)
> 
> Day 2: Magic  
> Character of focus: Rapunzel

It is strange, how quickly a whole world changes, how time slips away and the days run together after a tragedy. Eighteen years in a tower destroyed in a matter of two days. Or perhaps not, Rapunzel thinks then, in that awful in-between state of Gothel falling and Eugene returning and the joy of survival ebbing off into that question of _now, what now._ Maybe not two days, maybe more than that; perhaps Rapunzel has been prepared to leave her whole life, ever since she first saw those lanterns rise up over the horizon. Maybe. Maybe. 

After Mother dies, and Eugene comes back, and they’ve cried and held each other until their arms went numb; after, everything is a blur. He tells her, _Let’s go, let’s leave this place, I promise I’ll stay with you, I want to see the world by your side,_ and Rapunzel laughs and then she cries and she says, _I’m the lost princess._

_What?_

And well, that takes a while to explain, doesn’t it? Conversations and theories and—“Your birthday,” Eugene says, and then, with increased panic, “Oh, my god, your hair—” and then she’s convinced him of it and possibly herself of it too, and then—

“Do you want to go back?” Eugene asks her, meaning Corona, and Rapunzel says, “Maybe?”

He takes her there anyway, because what she really means is yes even if her heart is screaming (not _no_ , not quite, but close to it), and because they have nowhere else to go. They don’t talk about whether Corona will let them through, how safe Eugene will be returning there (“You don’t have to come,” Rapunzel has told him, fear in her heart, and he took her hand and said, “I’ll come anyway,”) or if the King and Queen will even believe them, or if everything can truly resolve itself as neatly as that.

They barely talk at all, in fact. The journey back to the kingdom is made in silence, shell-shocked and fragile. Her tower is a cage and the world is more frightening than ever before. Rapunzel has no home, now. She has no place she can go back to, and with this loss the entire world seems different, looks as big and terrible and as frightening as Mother always told her it would be.

Eugene is with her, though, and this helps ease the fear. Even if they don’t speak, he sits with her and holds her and rubs her back, reminds Rapunzel that she is alive and he is alive, and they both still have each other.

They come to the capital city on the dawn of the third day. On the hill overlooking the sea and the towering spires of the castle, they stand together and watch the sunrise. It crests the hills and sets all the world aglow; it shimmers in the sea and outlines the horizon with gold, and it is the first time Rapunzel has ever truly seen a sunrise in full.

It strikes her then that this world is hers, now, that this kingdom is her home and this horizon line is hers to roam as she pleases. Eugene is by her side and the whole expanse of the world lies at her feet, and Rapunzel thinks—

In the tower Mother had taught her that the world outside was horrible, all-consuming and tainted. She said magic existed only in the corners, only when it was hidden away and kept out of sight. She said that magic could thrive only in shadowed, protected places, only in this tower. If you go outside, the magic will be gone, Mother had said, and for all her life Rapunzel had believed her. Magic hair and magic song and a mother who knew of both; magic lived in Rapunzel’s tower and her tower alone.

But now, here, on this hill and at this sunrise, she watches as the light creeps out over the expanse of a sky she has never truly seen in full. She watches the ocean, so unknown to her, watches it dance and gleam in the light. This light catches on the castle and it alights on every part of the world: the trees and the houses and the people.

Rapunzel watches the sun rise and starts to cry. Her tower is good as gone and her Mother is dead, and the world is brighter than she could have ever imagined it. She has lived and breathed magic all her life, and yet this moment here is the most magical thing she has ever seen, and she has never before been so grateful to be alive, to be here in the now, standing on this hill and watching the world wake up.

_You were wrong, Mother,_ Rapunzel thinks, and takes Eugene’s hand and holds it tight. _There is magic out here after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to do Rapunzel two days in a row, but I've been having a lot of thoughts about Rapunzel and the tower recently. I mean.... damn. Eighteen years. It's a scary thought...
> 
> Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this drabble, and please, let me know what you thought!! Feedback is forever appreciated!! ❤️


	3. Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I'm having so much fun with these. Had a bit of trouble deciding what to do for this prompt, but well, I'm quite happy with what I ended up with! Season two crew is honestly just... so wonderful. I love them so much.
> 
> Day 3: Crew  
> Characters of focus: Season Two Crew

It is Cassandra who holds the reins for their caravan, both figuratively and literally. Rapunzel may be a Princess, but she can’t read the sky the way Cassandra can, doesn’t know the landscape or what it means, the stories in the rocks or waves or shapes of the trees. Cassandra does. She has eyes in the sky and on the road, and so, in a silent agreement they never really discussed but each and every one of them fell into, it is at Cassandra’s word alone that they stop. 

By now, though, after three weeks of travel, they have become so used to this routine that they’ve all begun to anticipate it. The sky purples and reddens as the sun sinks below the hills, and Rapunzel reaches out to light her lamp, the outdoors one, because the trees here are scarce and the field grasses short. Across from her, Lance is already picking up the sleeping rolls, tucking them under his arms and humming a jaunty tune under his breath; Hookfoot mutters irritably and goes to find the pillows. Eugene is already kneeling by the food bin, picking out bread and cheese and wet lettuce wrapped in cheesecloth: hot sandwiches for tonight’s dinner then, Rapunzel thinks. Shorty is snoring loudly on the floor in the midst of their motion, but even as Rapunzel watches, he burps and mumbles and peeks open one eye as if waiting for the call.

Sure enough, without further delay, their caravan rolls to a shuddering stop, the soft nickering of the horses sounding through the walls. Silence, and then the door opens, wooden steps falling out so they can exit. Cassandra looks in through the door.

“That’s as far as we’ll go today,” she says, as she always does. “Come on. There’s some nice fields out here, let’s set up camp.”

Rapunzel beams at her, Eugene mumbles an instinctive compliant. “Aye aye,” Lance says, the lone responder, and marches them all out one by one. “Ahh, sweet earth! How I’ve missed you!”

Cassandra rolls her eyes, takes Rapunzel’s offered lantern with a grateful smile, and walks off behind the caravan to close up the doors. Rapunzel laughs at them both and goes to find some reasonably sized rocks for the fire pit.

After days of this routine, their set-up is more efficient than ever. By the time the sky has gone dark and the bugs buzzing, their fire has already sparked to a decent flame, bedrolls set up neatly by Lance’s expert hand. Eugene balances their dinner on the frying pan, thick slices of bread piled high with dried meat and cheese and bright red vegetables, steaming over the heat. Shorty snores on the fireside, and Hookfoot polishes his hook and rubs at his stump to ease the cramps. When Cassandra comes back from locking up the caravan and tending to the horses, Rapunzel links their arms playfully and takes the lantern from her hands, dragging them both to the fireside.

Cassandra sighs at her, but she is laughing, too, and Rapunzel smiles wide and bright at the sound. They settle there on the dusty earth, side by side, Eugene passing out the food with dramatic flair. Lance interrupts his dramatics with a sly story; Eugene yelps and Hookfoot roars with laughter; Shorty snorts and Maximus brays heartily at Eugene’s misfortune. Cassandra is laughing openly now.

Rapunzel leans against Eugene’s shoulder and watches their antics with a small smile. The firelight dances in the darkness. The taste of their food lingers warm and savory on her tongue. She is warm, content, safe and loved, surrounded by her people in the great wide expanse of a free world.

With their laughter echoing in her ears, Rapunzel nestles into Eugene’s side and finally drifts off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts??


	4. Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I was going to try and spin this for Varian, but then I remembered that I... do not show Pascal enough love. I'm pretty fond of the little guy, so...
> 
> That being said tho?? I can't write Pascal _at all_. I think now its less that I forget to write him and more that I just. Do not understand chameleons. //shakes fist// Work with me, you tiny green reptile!!! Work with me!!
> 
> Day 4: Little  
> Character of focus: Pascal

Pascal learns early on what it means to be little.

It’s different, he has found, to simply being small. Little things are _little,_ ignored and overlooked, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Little is living in a tower with a girl who can never go outside, and trying every day to make a difference in her life, knowing all the while he never will. Little is hiding from the Mother because she will kill him. Little is looking outside a window at a world that is both wondrous and terrifying, knowing that girl will never dare step foot outside. 

The tower is small but Pascal is little, less than, underfoot.

It’s okay, though; Pascal doesn’t mind being little. It means he can hide in the nooks and crannies, and it means the Mother never finds him. It means he can rest on the girl’s shoulder and be with her always. It means people overlook him, and if Pascal has taught himself anything, its how to take advantage of that.

(Humans, he’s found, to his utter delight… Humans don’t take well to a tongue to the eye.Sucks for them, doesn’t it?)

Pascal is small, and in this great big human world, he is little. He doesn’t mind it, though. To Rapunzel he is not little, to her, he is the greatest. She’s proven that, told him that, again and again. In a small tower in an enclosed cove, it is the little things that brought her through, that eased the pain of captivity and let her laugh. A little friend, perhaps, but Pascal was a friend all the same, and that is enough for Rapunzel, and it is enough for him, too.

Little? Perhaps. But Pascal does not mind being little, because after all this time he knows now that it is the little things that make the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


	5. Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Adventure  
> Characters of focus: Eugene Fitzherbert, Varian

Eugene isn’t sure when this feeling first arises, when the horizon looks a little less inviting and the road a bit more bleak. He isn’t entirely certain when the rosy glasses break and the real world shines through, when the travel dust sticks and the weariness of the road lingers long after it perhaps should have faded. He isn’t sure when his suspicions grow, when he first starts to look over his shoulder, when the inability to look back and see the road behind them begins to make him restless. He isn’t sure when, exactly, he started to doubt. 

It is little things, of course, little things piled on more things and then even more things, until the little things are no longer so little and are in fact quite alarming. It perhaps starts when Rapunzel first mentions the visions the idol showed her, grows when days turn to weeks to a month, furthers each time he sees the rocks and remembers the history behind them—magic, always magic, and an alchemist driven mad by the mystery and the lies.

Eugene isn’t sure when it starts, but it comes upon him all at once. When the land starts to wither and the path narrows in focus, Eugene clenches the reins tight and grits his teeth. The rose-tinted lenses are broken, now, and Eugene remembers his roots. Not all stories have happy endings. Not all adventures end well for the heroes. Not every journey is a good one, and sometimes what you find at the end isn’t a reward but a tragedy.

The horizon line is bright with the promise of answers, but with every day that passes Eugene grows more afraid. Eyes on the back of his neck, threat in the air and in the breeze. Sometimes he can smell smoke, but no one else can, and when he mentions feeling watched Cassandra just raises an eyebrow at him and says, “Adira, remember?”

 _Yes, yes, of course,_ he says back, but then he notices this, too—Adira, lips pressed tight in something like guilt and something like unease, dark eyes watching them, secrets kept safely tucked away. No one else seems to see it, though. Rapunzel watches the horizon line with eyes bright, a rosy smile on her face; Cassandra watches her; Lance watches over all of them. Each of them all taking care of each other, and so Eugene keeps his mouth shut and his eyes forward for them. He watches the sunrise and the sunset and the shadows with a pit in his gut that feels less like fear and more like anticipation.

Flynn Rider, swashbuckler, rich enough to go wherever he pleased and do whatever he wanted, but for all that Eugene lived and breathed those books and once took that name as his own, he knows that real life is not like the stories. Destiny is not always grand. Roads often lead you into hell rather than heaven. In a tale of magic and princesses, there is always a foe to defeat.

Eugene breathes in, and smells smoke. No fire, not yet—but soon, he knows, with a sinking feeling in his chest. Soon.

Until one day he breathes in and smells smoke, and this time he sees the gray ash rise up, a billowing cloud to blot out the sun. When he races towards the screams and the echoing clang of iron and steel, his footprints sink in the mud. Black rocks in every direction, pointing to that inevitable ending, and in the center of the cluster he can see them: Cassandra, blood on her face; Lance, desperately to pull her free from an amber trap; Rapunzel, always, always Rapunzel, still and silent on the ground with blood seeping through golden strands. And in the center of it all, standing tall in the chaos— a boy sitting above them, laughing at their misfortune, the colorful vials in his hands glowing soft and sinister against the gray.

Varian turns, sees Eugene, and grins. There is blood on the ground and ash in the air, and all Eugene can think, looking at that boy’s cruel smile, is that their adventure has finally found its foe, and this story will never be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a lovely comment recently that mentioned these drabbles could be a trick-or-treat sort of situation, angst or fluff, so... consider this the first trick! (and for tomorrow, a treat!) I hope you enjoyed this little what-if scenario, ahaha.
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


	6. Heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like the last drabble, this is technically non-canon; it's another exploration of a possible "future" for the series. Only this one is much less, ah, deadly. I hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> Day 6: Heal  
> Characters of Focus: Varian, Rapunzel

It is the aftermath of everything, and Varian cannot believe it is finally over.

He wakes up in the infirmary room of a small town doctor, covered in bandages and aching head to toe. He stumbles outside to see tall trees and blue skies; the castle is miles and miles away, and so are any guards that would bring him back in. The dirt is cold beneath his bare toes, the air is sweet and clean.

He hears a door creak open behind him and whirls around to see Rapunzel. She looks as awful as he feels: newly short hair caked in blood, dirt all over her face, bandages wrapped up her arms. But when Varian says, rushed and rapid and breathless with fear, “Is it over, did we win, what happened,” she laughs loud and bright and tells him, “It’s over. We won. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Thank _god,_ ” Varian says, and collapses back into the dirt.

Rapunzel laughs harder at that, relief and joy and possibly a bit of hysteria. She sits down beside him and says, “How are you?”

“Tired,” Varian says. “Tired, tired, tired. I want to sleep forever.”

“It’s over,” she says again, the only comfort she can really give, and Varian sighs.

“Is it?”

Rapunzel doesn’t answer and the camaraderie between them goes stale at her silence. They are not friends, really; there is too much history and too much bad blood for that. Varian had joined their efforts at the very last, in the last possible second and the last possible moment. Even if his help was key to their victory, it doesn’t change all the wounds he inflicted on them all the years before then, and it doesn’t change the wounds that drove him to that point in the first place.

What will happen to him, now? Varian escaped Corona with less than good intentions, but now he is returning as—something else. A hero? No, maybe not. A friend? Not likely.

So what, then; but Varian is too afraid to ask her that.

“It’ll be okay,” Rapunzel says finally, and when he tilts back his head to look at her she is watching the sky. The birds up high are like black blots in the distance, their wings wide, soaring through the blue. “I won’t leave, Varian. None of us will. I’ll—I don’t know if I can stop you from being judged, but the sentence will be light, I swear it. I won’t leave you behind.”

Varian hums under his breath and doesn’t look at her. He watches the skies and the clouds, and rubs his hand at his shoulder. There is a bruise there, beneath the bandages, dark and deep, purple and black. He received it when he pushed Rapunzel out of the way of a blow only hours ago. A reaction without thought, but then—her hands, and Eugene’s arm, and Cassandra’s newly broken sword. All received in defense of Varian, and he too can point to each wound on his broken body and say which one he took for them.

These wounds will heal, Varian knows; they are already healing. The bruises will fade and the cuts will close, and perhaps there will be a scar or two, but the blood will wash away and the pain will ease eventually.

Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps it is time for this wound to heal too.

“Do you promise, Princess?” Varian asks, and Rapunzel says nothing for a good long while, and then she takes one breath and then another and says, soft and gentle and quiet—

“Yes.”

Varian smiles at the sky and closes his eyes. “Alright then,” he says, and deep in his chest, that old wound in his heart finally begins to fade. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know.”

The sky is bright and blue and shining. It is the aftermath of everything, and for the first time, Varian finally believes that everything will turn out okay. 

Rapunzel has promised him, after all. And he knows now, without a doubt, that she will always keep her promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after the big issues have already been worked out between Rapunzel and Varian, in that weird in-between state of not-friends-but-not-enemies, where "I promise" here symbolizes moving on, rather than an old wound. If that makes sense, ahaha.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!! Feedback is forever appreciated! ❤️ Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!


	7. Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh gosh, this drabble did not come easily. Man. I hope it's still enjoyable!!
> 
> Day 7: Sun  
> Character of focus: Rapunzel

Rapunzel’s story starts with the sun. 

This is a truth, a definite fact, a part of her life’s history that she could no more deny than her hair. If not for the sun, for the Sundrop, for the flower that glowed with inner light—if not for these things, Rapunzel would not be who she is today. She wouldn’t even be alive. These things have shaped her and story before she was old enough to even know they existed.

And the thing is, for so long—Rapunzel did not mind this. Yes, she had the Sundrop. Yes, the flower had saved her. But just as people have looked up to the sun as a beacon of light and warmth and all that is good in the world… well. Rapunzel is starting to get the unsettled sense that this how people view her.

She can’t blame them, not really; the Sun and its Sundrop have been legends for centuries, and legends that become people do not live quiet lives. But now, after Varian… now it is starting to scare her.

Sundrop, Princess, the girl with magic hair. They all have expectations, they all have plans, and they look to her to fulfill them. Be the best princes you can be, follow your destiny as the Sundrop, set a good example. They see her and know her before she ever has a chance to introduce herself, and Rapunzel—

Sundrop, Princess; she is none of those things, not really. She is known as the Sundrop by others only; a Princess for less than a year. So what if it was her birthright? How can she act as they expect her too when she herself has only just discovered this truth about herself? Barely even 365 days of being a princess, give or take a few, compared to 6570 days of just being herself, and yet they look to her and expect her to _know._

Why, oh _why_ do they expect this of her? To know what to do, to be the best, to set a good example? Rapunzel isn’t a Princess. She is dressed in fine gowns and wears a crown on her head, but that does not change 18 years of just being a daughter, a girl in a tower who swept her floors and mended broken things and played games to forget the outside. Princess, Sundrop—she is not those things, not just those things, but she is starting to get the feeling that is all people see.

It never used to bother her, but then, that was before Varian, before the fallout, before everything. That was before Rapunzel realized that people would not let her fail. Quaid calls her Princess, Adira calls her Sundrop, and they mean well, the both of them, but sometimes Rapunzel wants to grab their shoulders and shake them. _I am Rapunzel._ More than a princess, more than drop of Sun. A girl who escaped from a tower, but that is never enough for them. She cannot fail them. If she fails them, then there is no chance of making things better, because a Princess and a Sundrop should never have failed them in the first place. 

_I am_ **_Rapunzel._ **

Her story starts with the Sun, Rapunzel knows, and that is one truth she cannot deny. But she refuses to let it define her forever. She will make her own story, her own legend. She will make mistakes because she is human, because she is not perfect. She will fail, she will make mistakes, and she will do her best to fix them. And maybe one day, years from now, if she is remembered at all— then she hopes they at least have the decency to call her by her name.  


	8. Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a big fan of Moon theory, but I gotta admit, there's a lot of stuff that seems to be pointing to Cass as a "moon" as well, not just Varian. Plus, I just find the idea of a Cassandra with Moon powers to be... really, really cool. I mean! White-haired Cass!! She'd look _amazing_.
> 
> Day 8: Moon  
> Character of focus: Cassandra

The world, Cassandra knows, is divided.

For all her life, this has been a staple point. Our kingdom versus that kingdom. Day versus night. Light versus dark.

Sun and Moon, Sun versus Moon, opposites in contrast, destined foes by nature of their existence. This is how the world works—dualism, division, contrast and conflict.

Yet Cassandra is no longer so certain of this. 

She cannot name, exactly, when this realization arises, when this understanding clicks into place. Perhaps it is the journey itself—that sense of wandering, of seeing the world, of seeing how different life is outside of Corona’s borders, and how different it isn’t. Maybe it arises when she sees the black rocks—a plague upon Corona, yes, but they rise so valiantly to Rapunzel’s defense when she finally she reaches back. Maybe it is the scroll, a small detail she had ignored and then, upon seeing it, could not forget—Sun and Moon, golden flower and ruined tower, cast not against one another but rather side by side.

Perhaps it is simply this moment here: standing alone on a bridge reaching out over a dark void, dark rocks angling down at her from every direction, a shining light calling her forward.

Versus, against, conflict and war. But Cassandra steps into the heart of the Dark Kingdom and wonders. Rapunzel, bright and shining, and Cassandra is not like her—but then, is that really such a bad thing? Dualism, contrasts, the light versus the dark. But then, what if that has never been the answer after all?

Day and night, black and white, light and dark. Not a battle but a harmony. Not foes but merely pieces of a great puzzle.

Sun and Moon, Cassandra thinks, and steps up on the ledge. Before her, the opal shines and glimmers. It beckons her, calls to her, draws her near. Sinister, is what Cassandra had thought upon first seeing the stone—but then, maybe not. Maybe there is no such thing as good and evil things. Perhaps there are only choices, kind choices and cruel choices, and these powers are forever caught in the center of the pull. 

Rapunzel is the Sun, and of that Cassandra has never had any doubt. Rapunzel is brilliant, glowing, revealing light and healing warmth. Cassandra has never been able to shine even half as brightly as her Princess does. Cassandra is quieter, a silver blade rather than a helping hand, angrier and colder and more realistic, but then, is that really such a bad thing?

Sun and Moon, together once more. Standing tall and standing side by side, facing their enemies as one.

Cassandra reaches out, and the Moon’s Opal bursts into light. A howling storm, a raging wind, a midnight gleam and a steady glow. Her fingers wrap around the cold stone, and something deep inside her finally settles. 

In her palm, the Opal glitters. White strands of hair drift around Cassandra’s face. To her new eyes, the world is filled with light—bright and glowing, shadows and stars intermingled into one. Power hums through her veins, whispers echoing in her ears: promising strength, promising safety, promising a shield that will never waver. The Moon reflects the Sun, and they are both stronger for it.

Cassandra tightens her hold on that shining stone, and smiles. Destiny, demons, and foes greater than anything she has ever seen— but Cassandra has the Moon on her side, and the tide is in her favor.

The Sun and Moon, fighting together against the pull of destiny? Well.

Cassandra knows who she’ll be betting on.  


	9. Alternate Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Alternate universe! Ahhhh, I had so much fun with this one. This au doesn't have an official name, and I don't know if I'll ever write for it again, but man, it was so much fun to explore! I hope you like it!! 
> 
> Also, first time writing pre-QfaD Varian. Hopefully I did okay, ahaha. 
> 
> Day 9: Alternate Universe   
> Characters of focus: Eugene Fitzherbert, Varian, Rapunzel

The thing about being a thief, Eugene thinks to himself, rummaging through the day’s stolen merch with delighted gusto, is that it requires precise skill and application, of which Eugene has in spades. The thing about being a thief with a knack for teleportation magic means those skills are still lauded but are far more unnecessary, mostly because Eugene is absolutely _untraceable._

Four barrels of high-quality potion ingredients, some old spellbooks that look like that’d catch a killer price on the underground market, and four shelves worth of gold instruments—ohh, yes, Eugene has caught the gold mine. Magic is both a useful tool and a glorious moneymaker. Half of this loot will go to fortifying his hide-out—and the rest will be sold to the highest bidder. It’s no cursed crown, but hell, it’s certainly going to keep him full for tonight.

Eugene tosses up a stray gold brewing pipe and grins to himself. Oh, he can practically taste the expensive food already. He sets down the pipe with the sense of a plot well-executed, a sense of everything going right, and then a disembodied voice floats up from the floorboards.

“Ohhh man, oh man, why did it have to be you?”

Eugene grabs the pipe and whirls on his heel, breath catching. He brandishes the pipe out at—no one. Nothing. The room is completely empty but for his newly acquired treasure, so what—

“ _Not_ that I’m not happy to meet you! Because ohmigosh, sir, Flynn Rider, it is an _honor,_ oh wow. Literally, this is the coolest day ever _—_ but terrible. Also. Terrible. Ahhh, oh man, why did it have to be you—”

“Show yourself,” Eugene demands, jabbing the pipe at the air, glowering out into the room. He tries not to notice how his heart is pounding. The voice—its young, breathy and boyish—a child? But that’s impossible, Eugene would have noticed that, he’d snatched for things below his ankles just so he _wouldn’t_ catch people—

One of Lance’s old stories comes back to him, disembodied voices tied to golden objects, and suddenly his mouth goes dry. Eugene forces a tittering laugh, sweeping his eyes to the side. Dear god, please let there be a person. He’s not ready to be haunted. “C’mon… kid?”

“What? I’m not a kid!”

Definitely a kid. And still _no one there,_ ohhhh man, oh shit. Eugene so did not sign up for this.

He tightens his grip on the pipe for some moral support, and tries again. “Yeah, okay, kid. Where are you? Are you—” He hesitates, not wanting to offend, but still, _nothing_ — and screw it, he needs to know. “A ghost?”

Disembodied Voice scoffs so loudly Eugene almost jumps straight into the air. “What? Pffft! Oh no, no, of course not!”

Eugene’s grip tightens on the pipe. “Then—”

“Ahhh, she’s going to be so mad, oh man, but it’s _you,_ I mean, you aren’t a _bad_ guy…”

“Kid, seriously—”

“Don’t freak out, I said I wasn’t a ghost! Sheesh, okay, fine. I’m right here.”

“Right _where,”_ Eugene snaps, growing frustrated, and Disembodied Voice says, “Look down!”

Eugene looks down. Gold brewing pipes, spell books, boxes of expensive merch—and then he sees it. Perched there on the pile, nestled in the gold and old parchment, looking terribly pleased with itself… is a cat.

Eugene stares down at the cat. The cat, pitch black with blue eyes, a strange gold ribbon tied around its neck, looks back up at him and says, in the boy’s voice, “Hello! I’m Varian. Oh man, I am your _biggest_ fan!”

Eugene drops the pipe. It hits the ground with a terrible ruckus that makes the cat flinch, but Eugene barely hears it. “Oh, no.”

The cat—the cat! A talking cat! He hadn’t even known cats could do that, is this a familiar thing?—swishes his tail and sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “‘Oh, no’ is right. I’m so excited to meet you though! Even if you, ah, did kind of kidnap me…”

“Please _,”_ Eugene forces out, not even listening anymore, “ _please_ tell me you aren’t a witch’s cat.”

“Yeaaaaah,” says the cat. He tilts his head and gives Eugene a wide-eyed sort of stare, full of pity. “About that—”

Eugene is a teleporter—untraceable, untraceable, unable to be followed. Any spells stuck on him slide right off. But witches don’t take well to losing familiars—and the legends say they always know where to look.

“You probably want to duck,” offers the cat, and that’s when the wall explodes.

Everything’s a bit of a blur in that moment—debris, dust, Eugene ducking behind a table in a vain attempt to put an object between himself and the furious magic user coming for his head. The cat, damn the thing, just sits calmly in the center of the chaos, casually licking his paw. None of the debris hits him. The ribbon around his neck glows the same golden color as the magic pouring through Eugene’s hideout.

And there is magic—so much magic it practically blinds him. Gold light bursts from the hole in Eugene’s wall, and a wrathful figure wreathed in shining gold light marches inside. The witch is—kind of cute, actually, under any other circumstance: short and brunette with a face made for smiling, even if she isn’t smiling right now. Gold light streaks her choppy brown hair, shines in her eyes and makes her freckles go supernova. She looks like a star come to life, all the fury and brightness of a sun, and she says, in a booming voice tripled in volume:

**_Where. Is. My. Brother._ **

“Here, Raps,” says the cat, casual-as-you-please, and stretches lengthwise as if this is an everyday occurrence. “Also, ow, glowing, too bright, it hurts.”

 ** _What?_** says the witch, and then, “What?”

All at once, the light goes out with a snap. The glowing threads of magic vanish, the shine fading from the witch’s wide-eyed face. Brown hair, green eyes, a smattering of freckles—no otherworldly light in sight, and yet Eugene can’t help but eye her. That magic—that had been almost _royal,_ but then, that must be impossible—

He has no more time to dwell on it. “Varian!” the girl shouts, and then she sweeps up the cat and hugs him close. “Oh, my god, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine! It’s Flynn Rider, Raps! He’d never—”

“Is that who did this?” says the witch, and suddenly bright and furious green eyes turn and pin on Eugene. He stands up straight on impulse. “You! You _took—_ ”

“Accidentally!” Eugene says, and oh, man, this is bad, this is so very bad. They’re in his hideout, she’s a _witch,_ and shit, he is so screwed. “I absolutely did not mean to kidnap your familiar!”

“—my brother!”

They both stutter to a stop. Eugene stares at her, and then looks at the cat—the kitten really, okay, that thing is _tiny—_ curled up in her hands.

“…Brother?” Eugene says weakly. Which means… two. Two powerful magic users, because shifters are a rare kind of magical being and man oh man, Eugene does not want to mess with that, please let him have misheard— 

The cat yawns and jumps down from the witch’s arms. “Yep,” he says, and then something in the world goes sideways and when Eugene looks again, standing before him is not a cat but a boy.

The boy yawns into his hand. He is—he is dressed in a patched teal shirt and dark drawstring pants, barefoot and barehanded, black hair sticking up every which way around his face. His eyes are bright and blue. There is a gold braided ribbon around his wrist.

“Hi,” the boy says brightly. “I’m Varian.”

“…F-Flynn,” Eugene manages, and the boy nods and grins.

“I know!” he says, and then, with surprising gusto, “I am your _biggest fan_ ,” a yawn, “when I am awake,” and then, before Eugene can even question what the hell that statement’s supposed to mean, the boy turns around and just about falls into the witch for a hug.

She returns it immediately, then goes stiff and still when she realizes that hugging her brother means she can’t hex Eugene into oblivion. Her eyes narrow. Eugene can see the boy laugh.

“Pleaseeeeee don’t hex him?”

“He kidnapped you!”

“Cat-napped, technically,” says the kid, and snickers. “Nah, but he didn’t mean to. C’mon, please? I’m way too tired for this, Raps, I got snatched— _accidentally_ —in the middle of a nap.”

The witch narrows her eyes at Eugene again, and he stares back at her, wide-eyed. “…Fine,” says the witch, at last, reluctance in every word. “But only if you—”

“ _Yes,”_ the boy says, _“_ you are the _best sister ever_ ,” and then the world goes sideways once more, and when Eugene blinks open his eyes again, the boy is gone and the witch is holding a small kitten in her palms.

“ _Varian,”_ she says, sounding exasperated, and man, really, when she isn’t all glowing and promising certain doom, this witch—Raps?—is honestly really cute.

The cat—the boy—Varian just laughs, and the cat crawls up on her shoulders. “I’m tired,” he says, like this should mean something, and Raps sighs and picks him up and places him on her head.

Eugene watches, bemused, as she carefully places her pointed witches’ hat back on again, hiding the tiny kitten entirely from view. From the cloth, Eugene can hear a tiny voice say, “Aw, _yes.”_

“Just until we get home,” Raps warns, her eyes snapping back to Eugene. She points her finger at the thief in warning, but her words are solely for the little brother hiding under her hat. “And only because you got snatched while sleeping!”

There is no response to this. Presumably the cat-boy is now asleep. The witch narrows her eyes at Eugene and Eugene narrows his eyes right back. At last some self-preservation kicks in, and he finally offers his hand with a desperate smile. Okay. Okay. So his hideout is busted but he’s not about to die, and maybe he can salvage this after all—

“Hi,” he says, “Flynn Rider, nice to meet you,” and that, of course, is when a dark-haired lady with a sword comes bursting in through his ceiling with a wolf. Because why the fuck not.

“Rapunzel,” says the witch, over the newcomer’s battle cry, and smiles. Dust in the air and destruction all around, and she smiles. Eugene is so doomed. “It’s nice to meet you too!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been calling this au "magic" au in my head now for days, if only because that's the basics of it. Essentially-- Varian's a shifter (hereditary magic, he got it from his mom, black cat is his only alternate form); Cassandra is a summoner (it's where got the wolf hehe); and Eugene uses teleportation magic! Rapunzel is a witch-- essentially in this au I imagine that designates someone of extreme magical power or magical diversity. She can do two or more magics rather than just focusing on one type, and she can have a familiar! Which is not Varian, btw; her familiar is Pascal.
> 
> Anyways, that's all I have for this au. I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think! ❤️


	10. Royal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I fell a bit behind recently. Did my best to catch up, but be kind if they seem a bit rushed.....? Ahahaha,,
> 
> Day 10: Royal  
> Character of focus: Rapunzel
> 
> Notes: This drabble is tied partially into my series "earn your happy ending," and thus can probably be considered a part of the Labyrinths series as well. You don't need to know either series to understand it, but if any details strike a bell, that's probably why!

Rapunzel has never been a princess.

It is a feeling that had haunted her long into her adult life, a terrible guilt she has never truly lost, not really. The people accepted her so easily into her fold, said Princess Rapunzel like it was meant to be, but she never quite got used to the sound of that word, Princess, nor could she ever truly understand what it meant. _You’ll learn in time,_ said her father, and Rapunzel couldn’t help but wonder sometimes why everyone thought she wanted to.

Rapunzel isn’t a princess; she doesn’t know how to greet foreign dignitaries or read taxes or even the proper way to speak. She doesn’t (can’t) wear shoes and her hair is long and unruly no matter what finery they put her in. She feels more at home in the kitchens helping the cooks with their pies than she does standing around giving orders; still cannot quite get used to having maids or someone else to darn her clothes and make her beds.

Princess, they call her, and for years Rapunzel will wear that title feeling less like a royal and more like a liar.

“Just Rapunzel, please,” she says, and never tells them what a relief it is to hear her name bare on their lips.

It has been years, now; and still this feeling has not entirely ebbed. But Rapunzel is no longer a Princess, she is a Queen, and she carries the weight of years behind her, trailing like a blood-red cloak. Her hair is short, now, cut close to her head like a boy’s, slicked and professional. Her eyes stare forward and her steps never falter, and they’ve tailored her dresses so that the guests can’t see her bare feet. Her posture is pristine, back straight and hands fold over each other, her scarred palms hidden from view.

Rapunzel is a Queen, she is royal, and she has come to learn these titles do not mean what she thought they did, back when she was young and found herself wanting. Princess does not mean finery and maids; it means growth and learning. A queen is not a figurehead but a leader, and leaders take care of people, they protect and they fight with words and with battles if they must, and they keep their people alive and safe and happy.

Rapunzel has never gotten used to finery, and perhaps she will never truly believe that she belongs here. But as she walks through her castle with that weighted crown on her head, chin high and scarred hands bared for the world to see, she thinks she is one step closer to understanding what it is to be royal. It means fighting for a happy ending, and that, at least, is something Rapunzel can do.

Rapunzel has never been a princess, but she will do her best to be a Queen. 


	11. Sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Sword  
> Characters of focus: Adira, Cassandra

It’s not much that the group is growing on her, unless the growth in question is compared to a fungus. Adira isn’t personal enough to consider herself fond of them; sure, their antics make her smile where they used to make her roll her eyes, and Fishskin in particular is having some fantastic character development there—good for him! But just because she’s pleased with the Sundrop’s progress and growing used to the humor of the others doesn’t mean they’re _growing_ on her, it just means Adira’s been away from people for too long, perhaps, if this lot is enough to make her feel lonely.

She doesn’t dwell on it much; Adira as a whole isn’t much of a dweller. But she does note it. Maybe it’s the time she’s spent watching over them, maybe she really _is_ lonely (doubtful, but possible), or maybe it’s just that there’s little else to do, when watching over a group like this, than to look down and see the parallels between them. 

The sword girl—Short Hair, not one of Adira’s best nicknames—is perhaps the worst offender. It’s her attitude, Adira thinks. She isn’t much like Adira, but she’s got that same light—that brightness, that glow that sends her hand to sword hilt and a bloody grin stretching pale lips. She’s a fighter, and she’s fighting for a cause she believes in, and she fits so nicely into this niche of duty and blood and friendship it almost hurts to watch her. 

The girl isn’t to Adira’s level, of course—not yet, not with thirty years difference to try and catch up on. But she’s got the same spirit. The same fire. Fishskin keeps the group glued together, and the princess gives them hope and purpose, but it’s this girl here, Short Hair and Sharp Eyes and Iron Blade that takes the charge, defends them from foes and fights for their lives. She enjoys it, Adira knows; enjoys it in that clean, righteous way all fighting is, when you know you are doing it for the right reasons. Fighting without conviction is without clarity, without class—this girl fights like a dancer, like it's her lifeblood, no hesitation in her swing, no cracks in her iron heart. It is like looking into a mirror, if mirrors were the type of thing to reflect the past instead of the present.

Sometimes Adira sits there and watches them, because they have grown on her, a bit like a fungus, and she has nothing else to do now but watch. The girl she watches most of all. Short hair and sharp eyes and the bright laughter of the young and confident. She’s beautiful, in a way; there is something very aesthetically pleasing about a person who knows who they are and takes whole-hearted pride in it. It’s almost a shame that it probably won’t last.

Her sword for her kingdom and her queen, and Adira cannot help but wonder. What would she do, this quicksilver girl, this girl with all her edges and blades, if both kingdom and queen were to vanish before her eyes? 


	12. Love/Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: Love/Home  
> Characters of focus: Rapunzel, Eugene Fitzherbert, Cassandra, Varian
> 
> Notes: Please don't start any discourse in the comments!! This was meant as a fun little character study, not as a starting point to start ragging on these characters and who's at fault for all the events in the show. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the drabble!!

Love to Rapunzel is: warm hearths and warmer hearts, kind words and kinder hands, “I love you”s that mean something and a light in their eyes that speaks of pride and warmth and joy. Love is paint cracking between her fingers and pictures sprawling her walls, it is Pascal’s small weight on her shoulder and her parents’ arms warm around her. It is Cassandra tightening her dresses and saying in the same breath, “I can sneak you out,” the sweet breath of fresh air and Cassandra’s shy but pleased smile when she sees Rapunzel’s happiness. It is Eugene’s hitching laugh when she surprises him, the glow in his eyes that sings adoration without saying a word, the warmth of his hand in hers and the beat of his heart in her ears. Love is like the sun: warm and real and bright, a guiding warmth that leads her to where she needs to be.

 

Love to Eugene is: the matron gives him the book for his birthday and the adventures are so grand he almost forgets he is hungry, it is stories late at night by candlelight, whispering with a boy beneath the sheets, “Take Flynn,” says Arnwaldo, with that bright smile he has, “So I can be Lance, and that way we’ll be partners, forever and ever, brothers in name.” It is Rapunzel dancing in the streets and beckoning him to join her, and still reaching for him even when these streets become a castle and any other royal would have cast him away; it is Cassandra’s rolling eyes and almost-laughter at one of his quips; it is a bright sky filled with lanterns and watching a dream come true. Love is like dreaming—stolen moments and stilled breaths, and someone else saying, “I care.”

 

Love to Cassandra is: a wooden sword just for her, and her father lifting up his own with a gleam in his eye and says, “You ready?” It is a uniform prepped and shined with a gold sun on its chest, and it is warm hand at her hair, warm voices laughing, saying, “Go on, go on,it'ss yours.” It is Eugene’s fumbling attempts at comfort and lighthearted teasing that lost its edge months ago; it is Owl’s crooning song in her ears, it is wind in her hair and a weapon in her hands and pride in their eyes. It is Rapunzel looking back, saying “I trust you,” not with her words but with her eyes and heart and mind, it is looking forward into a sunset knowing always that her kingdom is at her back, just behind her. Love is like success—bright and shining and warm with pride, a treasure Cassandra will always defend.

 

Love to Varian is: “Go to sleep,” his Dad says, and pries the beaker from his hands and sweeps him up off his feet despite protests; it is the villager who touches his face and laughs and says, “You look just like her,” meaning his mother; it is a warm hand in his hair and squeezing at his shoulder. It is the words _son_ , _my child_ , and on the days when Quirin is happiest he’ll say _my pride and joy_ and Varian will feel as if he’s earned it. it is Rudiger’s warm weight on his shoulders and cold nose pressing into the back of his neck, it is Rapunzel saying “I promise,” the sense of everything is going to be okay, now; it is cold and painful and unbreakable amber, and the sting of ice and snow at his cheeks. Love is like victory—it is earned, and if it is not earned, Varian knows, then it is lost forever.

 

Home is where the heart is, and so, you see, is love.


	13. Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, these drabbles keep getting harder and harder, ahaha. Still though! I'm doing my best to catch up soon!!
> 
> This drabble is an original take on Gothel's backstory. It is loosely tied to plans/mysteries I want to explore in _Labyrinths of the Heart_ at some point, but it's not necessary to know the fic in order to understand this. Still, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Day 13: Song  
> Character of focus: Mother Gothel

It takes her years to find the flower. Years upon years upon years, every drop of her remaining time spent looking among the weeds and singing until her voice goes hoarse and scratchy. She sings until she can sing no longer, and every day she looks at her worn and wrinkling hands and imagines what they will look like once she has found the flower. Young, Gothel tells herself, kneeling in dirt. They will look young, and soft, untouched and unweathered. She imagines not a single streak of gray in her long dark hair, not a hint of age in her face. No wrinkles, no imperfections, nothing except beauty, and with it—strength, power, immortality.

She learns of the tale with all the others, the same as everyone else—settled around a storyteller and listening closely to their fables. She learns of the song later, when the foreign soldiers with their strange doubled-crest come and start building their tower. 

As a child Gothel had slipped under their feet and hung onto their coattails, begging for stories with all the other children. And unlike the others, who grew tired of groping blindly through the woods or scaling the cliffs, Gothel would always come back. The strange soldiers knew the same stories as the storytellers, but their versions were different. Theirs didn’t have a proper ending. The Moon loved the Sun, and the Sun cried a tear, and somewhere, the soldiers had told Gothel, somewhere very close to here, the tear had struck the earth. The tear had grown to a flower.

“How do you know the flower is here?” Gothel had asked them, and the soldiers had smiled. 

“Well, we were told so.”

“How do you know its true?”

“Because we trust him.”

“And how,” asked little Gothel, “how will you know you have found the right flower?”

A quicksilver grin and a laugh like the wind. “A song.”

“A song?”

“Yes, a song.”

A moment of thought, and then: “Can you teach me?”

They denied her. They denied her as a child and they denied her as an adult; they denied her when her mother grew ill and the village started dying. “I need the flower,” said Gothel. "I need the song. If you give it to me, I can find it." There were new guards there now, new people, young and healthy and strong. They laughed and shut their pretty tower door in her face.

“This song is not yours to take.”

They denied her until Gothel grew tired of their protests. They did not fear her, this middle-aged woman with hands already curling with age. She was old and withering, already ruined. They did not smile at her anymore. They did not know her. They called her Mother Gothel and she despised them for it.

They looked at her and saw a woman already dying, and so they never suspected her when she slipped her way into their tower home. They took her tea with a smile and her apology without suspicion, and the poison took them all except one. Gothel moved into their tower and kept the one survivor chained in the coldest room. The survivor had a sharp tongue and a fierce will, but Gothel’s blade was sharper still, and soon there was only one—only Gothel, left alone and dying in a tower, with nothing to show for it but a song.

She never stops searching. She sings and she searches and she comes back to the tower each day. The far-away kingdom with its strange doubled-crest keeps sending guards until one day no new ones arrive. Gothel keeps her song hidden and her dagger sharp, and puts the chains in the lower rooms just in case she needs them again. And she searches. For years and years, Gothel searches.

She searches until her hair grows gray and wild and her voice is but a croak. She searches until her hands wither into husks. She searches until climbing the tower becomes too much, and she searches even then. Youth, power, immortality. She never stops searching, and then, one day—she sings the song she stole off a prisoner’s dying breath, and sees the shine of golden light.

Mother Gothel finds her flower with a song. Her voice is thin, and her hands are dripping red. She touches shining gold petals, and smiles.

Age slips away. Black replaces the gray. Wrinkles smooth out into unblemished skin. And Gothel sings. 


	14. Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is rather short-- but, as a treat, it is a short fic connected to Labyrinths!! This is just a quick exploration of Varian's pov and experience with the reoccurring dreams in the fic.
> 
> Day 14: Fog  
> Character of Focus: Varian

Varian is not sure when he starts remembering the dreams. He is not sure when they start. He sits in a cold cell in the aftermath of a great failure, and when he closes his eyes he dreams of nothingness.

One day in the future, he will look back on it. One day far off, he will remember the dreams. There will be other dreams besides this one. A crossroads, a mirror hall, Rapunzel saying, “I’m sorry I failed you.” There will be other dreams—more important dreams— to recall and remember.

But all things have a beginning, even dreams. And this is his:

Varian dreams of empty space, an empty field, a world of full of fog. He steps out into a misty void, and looks up at a sky he cannot see. Beneath his feet, a dark bridge stretches out. It is a ledge, and if he squints, he thinks there must be something at the end of it. A light, encircled by dark stone, a pale glow reaching out, blue light shining through the colorless fog.

All dreams start somewhere. All paths have a beginning. And this is Varian’s—a bridge of cold black stone, a world shrouded in cool fog, and a voice that laughs in his ear and echoes in the wind.

 _You’ll do,_ says the voice, and then his father’s amber grave rises from the deep and bars his way, blocks the bridge and the blue light at the end from view. The fog burns gold, and a hand touches his shoulder.

Varian looks up into Rapunzel’s eyes, and never questions it. “It has to be me,” he tells her, his words or someone else’s words, or maybe both, and the voice laughs in his ears.

When he wakes up, that night, he will not remember the details. The cell walls are cold against his back, the moon shining bright through the bars of the lone window. He shuts his eyes tight, and when he thinks back to his dream, all he will remember is this—cold blue fog slowly turning to gold, yellow light burning bright like an omen. 


	15. Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying my best to catch up, but man oh man, these prompts are not making it easy.... I have no idea what to do with these, ahaha,,
> 
> Day 15: Forest  
> Character of Focus: Cassandra

Cassandra learns to fight in a forest.

It is her dad’s idea, of course. All things to do with fighting and learning fall upon his proud shoulders. He chooses the forest for her early on, when she is still small enough to be held, and Cassandra has returned to it ever since. Her earliest memory is of the woods—the trees tall and the path shaded, Cassandra small and secure in her father’s arms. He rode out with her to the overgrown brush, and when they stopped, he placed a hand on her shoulder and pointed out over her head to the thick bushel of trees.

“Do you know what hides in a forest?” 

“Bad guys?”

“Yes,” he’d said, and curled her soft and untested hand around the firm hilt of a wooden sword. “But also good people. Animals. Merchants. The forest hides them all. So you need to train your eyes in order to see clearly, even here—” a pause here, and a smile, made brighter from the memory, “and you must learn how to tell what is a part of the forest… and what isn’t.”

Cassandra had loved those lessons as a child. The capital city, beautiful though it was, was confined. In the forest she could practice riding and archery and training her eyes. She found Owl there, and taught him there, learned what whistle would call him to her and what treats he liked best. She learned how to fight, how to ride, how to play the games she wanted to play. The capital city was duty, and the forest was a place to hide.

Now that she is older, the forest has a new distraction, a new reason for her to love it. Riding and sword-fighting and training her eyes. And this, too—a secret discovered on the dawn of Cassandra’s twentieth year—the site of the Sundrop flower, and the rocks that crested up where it used to grow.

“The forest has many secrets,” Cassandra’s dad liked to say, and Cassandra ran her fingers along one of those unbreakable spires and locked this secret away with all the rest.

“I am telling you this because I trust you,” her Dad says now, solemn but smiling, and Cassandra laughs. Her reply is airy and light.

“Don’t worry, Dad, who would I tell?”

Her forest, always her forest. Her trees, her freedom, her place to hide. The rocks, interesting though they are, are simply yet another mystery. And yet—the look of those stones, deadly clusters rising around where a flower once grew… the image lingers long after she leaves them behind her.

And Cassandra cannot shake the feeling that rocks will not be content to stay hidden in her forest for long.  


	16. Celestial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabbles was the MOST troublesome of the lot. Just. Whoooo boy. Man. So glad I'm moving on from that one, ahaha...
> 
> Note-- this takes place during the Tangled movie.
> 
> Day 16: Celestial  
> Characters of Focus: Eugene and Rapunzel

She says, “Don’t freak out.” 

Which is nice of her, really, to give him some warning. Don’t freak out—it implies that there’s more to this story that Eugene really, really hasn’t considered, implies he’s missed a very crucial fact beyond the fact her hair glows. So really, he appreciates the gesture, even if he’s halfway to hyperventilation when she starts wrapping the hair around his hurt hand. 

It’s only because of that warning that he holds back his scream when the hair starts glowing. Her song—the singing—it’s like nothing Eugene has ever known. Her voice rises and falls with rhythmic harmony, and even as she sings, the air almost seems to ripple. He can almost hear music, soft notes of a far-off melody ringing in tune with every note, the whisper of an eternal song in his ears. It’s hauntingly beautiful and terribly creepy all at once, enough so that Eugene misses the lyrics entirely, torn between fear and awe, wide eyes watching gold light shine. 

The light starts at her roots and runs down the strands like a golden stream. It snakes across the ground, makes the darkness sparkle and shine. When the light glides over his palm, it is warm, with a soft pressure that feels less like glowing hair and more like a warm hand holding his own, enfolding his palm in a secure grasp, grounding him, securing him, easing away the cold and pain. The sting in his hand fades. The bite of hunger at his gut ebbs. The ache in his bones, his bruises and exhaustion—gone, fading, swept away with the gold. 

Eugene sucks in a sharp breath and stares wonderingly at this girl’s face—at _Rapunzel’s_ face, for it is still her, even here under this godly glow. Her eyes closed, her lips barely moving as she sings. The gold light shining through her hair. It is—beautiful, terrible, unnatural. For a moment, Eugene is caught, a strange sense falling over him. The sense of seeing something unknown, something powerful, something other, something celestial. And in that thought there is a whisper of something else too, a rising memory: stories in an orphanage, Flynn Rider books and a boy like a brother, but this, too— _Once upon a time, there was a drop of Sun…_

The song ends, and so does the moment. Rapunzel opens her eyes, and for a moment Eugene thinks these too shine with golden light. The glow fades from her hair, her eyes, her face. She stares at him and Eugene stares back, and the thought, that sensation, slips away in his shock. 

He will not realize the truth until Rapunzel herself tells it to him herself, hours from now, in the light of a new day. Not because he forgets, or because he doesn’t understand. Eugene looks this power head on and then he looks beyond it, because magical glowing hair is celestial in origin, but the fact he saw it at all—

Rapunzel wrapped her hair around his hand and sang a song of power, and in that action there is a show of trust so raw and real it almost takes his breath away. And that trust, to Eugene, is even more precious than whatever celestial power she might possess. 


	17. Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing my best to catch up on these drabbles!! Prepare for multiple postings!! And possibly sub-par editing, because I'm very tired and writing is hard, ahaha. Sorry for any mistakes, guys. I hope these drabbles are still enjoyable!!
> 
> This drabble was inspired by an amazing bit of art ky-jane did a couple weeks ago of a prison-escapee!Varian, which you can find [here!!](http://ky-jane.tumblr.com/post/178903463595/i-feel-so-s-m-a-l-l-with-my-hands-up-to-the) Their art is honestly so amazing, and they have a bunch of awesome items in their shop, so definitely check them out of you have the time!!
> 
> Day 17: Wind  
> Character of Focus: Varian

It occurs to Varian, too late to matter, that he does not know the outside world as well as he should. These trees and these overgrown paths are not only unknown but also unreadable to him. In hindsight perhaps escape wasn’t one of Varian’s brightest plans, but he hikes the strap of the worn satchel up his shoulder and keeps on walking anyway. There is nowhere else for him to go, and going back—back to the prison, to isolation, to iron chains—is not even remotely an option.

Even the unknown, Varian thinks to himself, is better than back there.  

This resolve does not make him any less lost. The forest here is unlike anything he has ever seen, even with his Dad: tall, heavy trees with dark bark and thick layers of moss; the paths overgrown and rocky; grasses growing long between small smooth stones. The sky above is gray and clouded, early morning mists hanging thick and dewy in the air, fogging his breath and obscuring his view. Dark evergreen leaves and the shadows of the forest stretching before him, the unknown swallowing him whole. The wind is brisk and cold, and when he sucks in a deep breath it sears his throat, crisp and clean and clear. Varian cannot smell anything here, or at least not anything familiar. There is no heady scent of food, no warm gusts of air from fires or chimneys. The wind does not carry conversations or sounds from a city; no wheels, no carts, no horses or towns or people. Nothing but the faint rustle of the trees and the whisper of the woods, uncharted and unknown. 

Varian stretches out a hand, feeling the wind slide through the gaps of his fingers, the skin on his palm crawling; the iron handcuff and remaining chain is icy cold against his skin. He watches the remaining length of broken chain sway in the breeze, the only man-made sound in this forgotten wood, the only mark of where Varian has come from. Varian uncurls his fingers and watches water bead in the creases of his white palm, from the mists or an early rain or maybe both. 

At his feet, Ruddiger chitters, a cold nose pressing against Varian’s bare ankle. He looks down and blinks at him, startled from his daze. A moment of pause, and then Varian kneels down and rubs Ruddiger’s ear, exhaling slowly.

“Sorry, buddy. Just thinking.” 

Ruddiger coos again, soft and concerned, and scrambles at his leg. Varian smiles, a little more present this time, and kneels fully so that Ruddiger can clamor up onto his shoulders, tiny claws pulling at his shirt and his hair as the raccoon gets himself settled. Varian stands again, slow and careful, a ringed tail brushing by his face. The wind blows hard and cold, but with Ruddiger so close, the icy touch feels blunted by the warmth.

The wind gusts past and ruffles his hair, sweeping around boy and raccoon before rising past them into a shadowy horizon. Varian looks down the obscured road and tightens his hand on the strap of his bag.

He cannot go back, which means he must move on—and so Varian takes another step forward, off the path into the unknown, led on by only the whisper of the winds.


	18. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was also inspired by yet another amazing artwork of a possible scene in “Happiness Is” by mogadeer, which you can find [here!!](http://mogadeer.tumblr.com/post/177192520818/happiness-is-now-colored)
> 
> Day 18: Dream  
> Character of Focus: Rapunzel

In the aftermath of the idol, Rapunzel’s dreams are echoes of the conflict that still plagues her heart, even if the echoes now have been dulled. She misses home, and she is right to miss home, and it is alright to miss home and still move forward. She understands that. She is not happy right now, but she can still _be_ happy, and there is comfort in knowing that. 

But even so, even though her mind understands, her heart still holds onto that dream. To have seen her loved ones’ faces once more, even if only in an illusion—it brings those moments rising up, those echoes and wishes from long ago. The idol has thrown her dreams and her hopes in her face, has taken her fears and twisted them, has taken the voices of her loved ones and tortured them. It frightens her, though she tries to pretend otherwise. It makes Rapunzel all the more desperate to see them— the _real_ them—once again. 

And so— Rapunzel dreams. 

She dreams of castle halls filled with people, people she knows and likes. The cooks who laugh and let her join them in the kitchen, the maids who shake their heads and smile when they find her bed already made. The servants and guards—she knows them all by name now, has gotten better at knowing them all by name. Eddie, Rachel, Tala, Euna, Addy-not-Adeline, Tia, Kyn, Elias, Lewis. They greet her and she greets them in turn, delights in their visits. Her parents wrap her in a warm hug; her mother kisses her cheek. “Welcome home,” and yes, Rapunzel thinks, _yes, this is right._ Welcome home. 

Cassandra by her side and the Captain behind her—a hand on her shoulder, proud; all Cassandra has ever wanted and all Rapunzel has wanted for her. Coronan armor polished and shined and tailored just for Cass, for there is no one else Rapunzel would rather have watching her back. Lance laughing and joyful, finally content, something settled and at ease behind his eyes. No longer restless or uncertain or unsure, in those small ways he tries to hide or cover up, and when she sees his smile, Rapunzel knows he is happy. Hookfoot and Seraphina, no longer separated; Shorty with all the food and wine he could wish for. Bright blue skies and open gates and laughter. Eugene by her side with a ring on his hand and a matching band of gold on her hand, and a smile that is no longer shadowed by any fear or uncertainty, any doubt that Rapunzel might have caused him. 

“Are you happy to be home?” 

 _Home?_ Rapunzel thinks, and then— yes, yes. This is right. She is home. She is home in this great big castle with its white shining walls, home with her family and loved ones beside her. She kisses his cheek and says, “Yes.” 

The world shifts, moves on into the final phase of dreaming. There is a party, and it is night, and Rapunzel is dancing. Eugene’s hand warm in hers, rings glinting in the light. Her hair is short here, short and brown, and the lightness makes her dizzy. She spins without tripping, no weight at her head or pulling at her shoulders. Spinning on a great wide floor and saying to herself, “Yes, I am happy, I am home.” She likes the sound of those words, the way they form on her lips. She keeps saying them. 

She spins on a white ballroom floor and then suddenly the scene shifts again—Rapunzel is outside now, out on the ledge, the whole world expanding out from beneath her feet. The horizon-line is bright and burning in the distance. Nothing and no-one else here but open skies and laughter in the air, and a boy sitting up on the banister, kicking his heels out over the ledge. 

In her dreams, he is just as she remembers him to be—apron and goggles and gloves like he’s just come from his lab, dark hair mused and spiked as if he’s never heard of a hairbrush in his life. His eyes are bright and blue: no shadows, no exhaustion, no evidence of sleepless nights. There is no grief on his face, no pain, no anger. Just clarity, and a smile, wide and real. He sits on the banister and kicks his heels, and when he sees her, he laughs, high-pitched and bright like the child he actually is. 

“Welcome home, Princess!” Varian says, no fury or hatred in his voice, and he smiles at her like she is a friend instead of an enemy.

In her dreams she turns back, meets his eyes without fear, returns his smile. She opens her mouth to speak— to say something, _anything_ , a greeting or goodbye or how are you, the sort of things that friends say to each other— 

“Are you happy?” 

—but she never gets the chance to speak, to say what she wishes she could have said. For these are only dreams, and in the end, Rapunzel always wakes up.   


	19. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varian dreams of a world where he won. Warnings for mentions of major character death, blood, etc.
> 
> Day 19: Nightmare  
> Character of Focus: Varian

Varian stands in a castle where the walls are white and the halls are empty. When he walks down the corridor his footsteps echo. There is no one else here, no one at all, and he knows it is because of him. He bounces on his heels and laughs to himself, because he’s done it, he’s done it, he’s won. 

He rubs absently at his wrist, his skin crawling with cold, still smiling. Empty halls and an empty castle, and he sweeps into the throne room with that wide smile still stretched on across his face.

“Hell- _o_ , King Frederic!”

The king doesn’t look at him; of course he doesn’t. He is still and frozen on his throne, expression stiff. Eyes open and glassy with his face twisted into an expression of defeat. The best expression, Varian thinks, the best the best the best, even if the amber makes it hard to see such a wonderful expression clearly.

“How’s it feel to lose?” 

No answer, of course, and Varian giggles at his own joke and twirls on his heel, flinging his hands out into the air. “It’s all mine now,” he announces, matter-of-fact. “All mine, I won, and now you’ve all gotten what you deserve.” He laughs, again, and brings his hands in close, scratching at his skin. His fingers are so cold. “It’s so quiet now, Fred! Betcha you would’ve liked that, huh? No more people to pester you or bother you or confront you about what you’ve done.” He looks back and grins wide. “Well. You can’t look away anymore, now can you?” 

No answer. Varian’s smile falls. “Hey,” he says. “Hey, _answer me_ —”

The rooms shifts, condenses and crushes him, darkness slithering along the walls. Varian’s breath catches and he steps back, and his bare feet scuff against a cold stone floor. 

His lab is the same as ever, as always; just more cluttered now, with the new amber statue to replace the one Varian broke open. Inside the queen is grit-toothed and reaching, pulling at the chains around her ankles. On the floor before him, Rapunzel is limp and motionless, scrawled across the stone. Her hair is dull and brown and as dead as she is.

“This isn’t funny,” Varian snaps at her, striding close—he never gets to her side, never has the chance to reach her, before a hand closes around his wrist. He turns and then—Dad, it’s Dad, staring back at him.

“Dad!” Varian says, and he steps back. “Wait, wait, I just have to—”

“Varian,” Dad says, “Son,” and Varian stops. “What have you been doing?”

“What? Dad, wait, I just have to—Rapunzel, hey, Princess! Wake up!”

“What are you doing,” Dad says, and oh, oh no, he sounds so disappointed. Low tones and a shake of his head, that tired look in his eyes. Varian smiles and smiles and feels the edges start to falter. “No,” he says. “No, wait, Dad, I can fix this— _Rapunzel!_ ” 

His dad shakes his head and his grip around Varian’s wrist is like iron. “Oh, Varian.”

“Get up!”

“She’s just like me, son. She’s not answering.”

“What?” Varian says, and turns back. He says, “Dad, what—”

Dad lifts Varian’s hand and sighs. His fingers are so tight it hurts. In his father’s firm grip, Varian’s hand is a small and breakable thing, small and scarred and dripping with red.

“What did you do?” Dad asks, eyes cold, and when Varian tries to pull away he can’t. He can’t get away, he can’t—

“Rapunzel!” Varian cries, “Rapunzel, help me!” But she’s not answering and suddenly Dad is gone too, and it is not Dad holding him but amber, bright and golden and glowing, creeping tendrils wrapping tight around a bloody wrist.

He screams and fights and cries for help, but no one answers. No one ever answers. There is no one left, no one at all, empty halls and empty rooms with nothing but the dead, and Varian drowns in the silence. 


	20. Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bleh, this was one of the most difficult prompts yet for me, ahaha..... I'll admit, I don't really know what's going on here.
> 
> Day 20: Sweet  
> Characters of Focus: Cassandra, Rapunzel

“Oh,” says Rapunzel. “Cass! What are you doing here?”

It is midnight hours, long since past the time most would go to bed. The castle is dark but for a few stray torches, and the halls are deep and shadowed. In the dim light Rapunzel’s smile is all teeth, twitching at the edges.

“Patrol,” Cass replies, as easy as can be. She leans against her halberd and raises an eyebrow at Rapunzel, resisting the urge to smirk. It’s not nice to gloat at a sleep-deprived princess. “And you, Raps?”

Credit where credit is due—Rapunzel’s smile is bright and joyful and betrays none of her lying, lying self. “Midnight walk!”

“Mm-hmm.”

Rapunzel pumps her fist in the air. Her smile might have a bit of desperate cast to it. It might not. Who could tell? “They say walking is… wonderful exercise!”

“Yep,” Cass says, casually. “They do in fact say that.”

Rapunzel stares at her. Cassandra smiles.

“…And, see, since I was walking—”

“Raps, I’m not letting you into the kitchens.”

The smile drops, and Rapunzel droops. “Not even a peek?”

“Nope,” Cass says, cheerfully. “Sorry, Raps. My dad said to guard the kitchen, and _well_ ….”

Rapunzel clasps her hands, eyes going wide and pleading. “Please, Cass? Just one? Eugene kept going on about how good those cakes taste, and I’ll be talking _all_ day at the banquet tomorrow, so—”

“No.”

She wilts. Cass reaches out and pats her shoulder, and when Rapunzel peeks up with a hopeful expression, says, with cheery brightness, “Wow, its _really_ late, Raps, shouldn’t you be getting to bed?”

Rapunzel narrows her eyes at her. Cassandra grins. “Don’t want to be tired _and_ hungry for the banquet.”

Rapunzel wrinkles her nose at her and casts one last longing look at the darkened kitchen. Then she sighs. “Oh, alright. Night, Cass.”

“Go to _sleep,_ Raps,” Cassandra says, and watches Rapunzel leave down the hall. Then she checks the corridors one last time, and when the coast is clear, ducks inside the dark kitchen.

The great banquet is tomorrow. Guests from all over the world will be coming, and so that means treats from all over the world have been prepared. The likelihood of getting one during the ball, for a guard on duty or a princess doing politics? Unlikely.

Cassandra sneaks out of the kitchen with a stolen treat in one hand, and a second in the other. She eats the sweet in two heavenly bites, and looks down at the second with longing.

She rolls her eyes at the memory of Rapunzel’s sneaking, and pockets the treat to give to her later—after the ball, just in case Rapunzel does end up sneaking one. Then hefts up her halberd and waits.

Just in time—Stan comes rushing back. “Oh man,” he says, talking back the halberd. “Thanks so much for filling for me, Cass. I can’t believe I lost my helmet!”

“No trouble at all, Stan,” Cassandra says, trying not to grin, and then she heads back to her room with a smile on her face, jam on her fingers, and a sweet taste still lingering on her tongue. Score one for Cass. 


	21. Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: Glow  
> Characters of Focus: Varian, Quirin

The lantern festival has always been there, it feels like; he cannot remember when he first saw those lights or when the practice became real to him. The lanterns are like the sun and moon and the border wall by his house: eternal, ever-present. He can no more say when he first saw the lanterns and knew it for what it was than he can name when he first recognized a sunrise. It’s a constant—like birthdays, maybe. It comes along every year, and Varian never questions it.

He knows there’s tragedy attached to it, or at least suspects before Dad finally tells him the story. The adults never celebrate the festival the way the younger do. Their faces light up in joy but also in grief, another year passing, another year with no sign. One time Varian had caught the potter and baker whispering behind their hands as the first lights started to rise, and that conversation has lingered on in his memory. “Dead, I think,” the potter had said, and the baker shook her head. “That poor girl,” she murmured back.

Dad says the lights are for Princess, to help her find her way home; when Varian asks if the Princess is dead, Dad just sighs and brushes back his hair. “Lost,” he tells Varian, and something in his voice says its better to just leave it at that.

Varian leaves it at that. He doesn’t know the Princess, though it is sad she’s missing; he hopes the lights help, wherever she is. But the knowledge of why the festival exists, the tragedy behind it, is far-off and distant to him. For Varian, this festival is nothing more than that— a festival, a holiday, a time when Dad is home _all day_ and there are sweet foods and games and the glow of a thousand lanterns to light the night. The lantern festival is a time for family, and so Varian loves it with all his heart, tragic beginnings or not.

This year of the lantern festival will be different, however. Varian is eight now, and he is finally old enough to stay up late and watch the lanterns drift until they disappear long into the midnight hours. Before, Dad had always held him and watched the lanterns on the ground with everyone else; this year Dad says they’ll be doing something different.

“Family tradition,” he says, eyes on the portrait, “your mother came up with it.” And so even though Varian is sad at the loss of his old tradition, he is terribly excited at the new. He cannot remember his mother well, but the idea of following her tradition fills him with childish glee.

On the eve of the lantern event, after all the games and celebrations have eased, Dad bundles up a pile of heavy blankets and a steaming pot of boiling cider that he wraps in rags to keep from burning their hands. He leads Varian past the other villagers, up to the border wall that looms behind their house, and then he throws both items over his shoulder and picks Varian up with one arm.

Varian clings at his neck and hides his face in his dad’s coat, peeking out to see the sights. The border wall is infinitely tall to his eyes, but Quirin reaches the summit quickly, and he sets Varian down on the wall and starts spreading out blankets.

The stones are hard and cold beneath him, but with the blankets its a much more comfortable seat. Varian clutches a blanket close and ducks under his dad’s arm, and then he’s really warm, Dad’s hand resting heavy on his head, the fur of his vest scratching against Varian’s cheek. Dad passes down a wooden cup of the cider, and Varian blows on it, watching the steam warp and twist in the darkening sky. The warmth radiates through the wood cup to Varian’s hands, the steam hot on his face. At their backs another kingdom stretches out, forest and wilderness and woods for miles, beautiful and silent. On this wall, Varian can see the whole kingdom, can even spy the distant figure of the capital city, lit by the backdrop of a glowing horizon.

As they watch, the last of the sunlight fades, day darkening into dusk. Dad rubs circles in Varian’s back through the blanket and talks. Dad’s stories are always strange, switching between one subject to the next, more rambling than linear. The tale starts with Moon and Sun and switches to a lost princess, and then Varian’s mom, and then a friend his dad used to have, a woman with a sword as sharp as she was. Varian nestles against his dad’s side and listens.

When the sky is completely dark and Varian himself is getting sleepy, the lantern lights finally rise. They drift up one by one, and then by the hundreds and then by the thousands, brighter than even the stars, floating with the wind. Below them, the whole village of Old Corona lights up too, candles burning in memory of the princess in lieu of lanterns.

The night is cold, but Dad is warm, and sitting here on this wall Varian is warmer still. He has had a long day, a good day, and he curls into his dad’s side and watches the lanterns rise with a half-lidded and sleepy gaze.

When he finally drifts off to sleep, the soft glow lingers on, caught behind his eyes and captured in memory.


	22. Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been excited to do this one, mainly because I have some very strong feelings about the King's actions in the season one finale. Like. What the _fuck_ , Fred??
> 
> Day 22: Walls  
> Character of Focus: Rapunzel

He has locked her in a tower, and Rapunzel could scream.

History has repeated itself. Rapunzel is a prisoner once more, caged by good intentions and a parent who claims to know what is best for her, chained in a tower and forced to leave the outside world behind. She is isolated, trapped, unheard and ignored. He doesn’t even have the decency to pretend; he’s put bars on her window and called it love. Rapunzel could _scream._

“Understand where he’s coming from,” the queen had said, and Rapunzel is trying, she’s _trying,_ but god, she just can’t. He is her father, her real one, but what is the difference? Gothel claimed to be her mother and locked her away for eighteen years, and now this man, her father, who in truth Rapunzel has barely known for even a year—he has done the same. Is this what all parents do? Create cages? Or is Rapunzel just a special sort of unlucky, in that every parent she’s ever had has tried to lock her away?

She could scream, and more than that she could cry. Bad enough, now, that Varian has become what he has—whatever that is. Now this, too. A betrayal that somehow stings all the more because her father, oh, shouldn’t he have known better? Rapunzel told them both what happened to her in those years, the tower that was her prison and the woman who trapped her there, and yet…

Bars on her windows and a lock on the door, and the walls have never felt so stifling.

It is not the first time this fear has struck Rapunzel, though it is the first time the fear has truly become reality. This fear has existed for ages now, this sense of walls closing in and doors that will never open. When the fear came, Rapunzel would run to the balcony and soak in the fresh air and open world like a flower would the sun. Desperate, shaking, aching to survive. But now Rapunzel has nowhere to run: bars on the windows, locks on the doors, and walls that will never break no matter how hard she hits at them.

Rapunzel is screaming. Silent, muffled, furious. _Don’t yell, dearest. Don’t mumble, darling. I don’t know why you’re angry at_ me.

Blank white walls and a fancy bed; it might as well be a prison cell. “It’s different,” the queen had said. “He is doing it because he loves you.” And she is right, in a way—it is different, this time, but not because of that. A tower, a cage, a lock on her freedom they have the audacity to call love. No, there is no difference there. The only difference is Rapunzel herself.

Eighteen years in a cage, and she never knew enough to understand she could leave. But Rapunzel understands now. She knows what lies beyond her tower; she knows what the world is made of. She has seen the sun and tasted freedom, and she’ll be damned if they are ever taken away from her again. Not by this tower, not by a king, not even by a father.

The walls are closing in on her, but Rapunzel refuses to let the world clip her wings ever again.

She rolls up her sleeves, grabs a paintbrush and paint, and gets to work. 


	23. Chill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really fond of ice/winter metaphors. Especially for Varian!! They fit him really well, y'know? Like a Snow Queen-esque kind of fairy tale.
> 
> Day 23: Chill  
> Character of Focus: Varian

The chill of the snowstorm lingers long after the ice has melted away. 

It will be years before Varian realizes, before he recognizes it. As if, from the moment those guards threw him out into the snow, from the instant he realized that Rapunzel was not coming, she would not come, she had turned away and left him in the cold—in that second, that empty space of dawning understanding, something in him had frozen. A cold trickle down his spine, seeping into his soul. An icy breath that would harden and freeze once he returned home and found his father in the amber.

The chill lingers, and the ice remains, even when the snowstorm itself moves on. Varian is faded, stuck, frozen still. Caught in the past, feet glued to the ground, unable to move forward and unable to move on. Ice in his heart and a cold grip on his soul, truths he turns away from and refuses to acknowledge. Every action drives it deeper—a lance of winter, spearing him through. Every day he spends in that lab, that home he can no longer call home. Every sleepless night, every failed attempt. Trying over and over again, his father frozen above him, failure after failure. Nothing changes, and the cold sinks beneath his bones.

He sends the message to Rapunzel and his breath mists in the air. He bears her concern and her lies and leaves with the Sundrop in his pack and frost filming his eyes. He fails to free his father from the amber, and when he climbs into that final automaton, he can almost feel the icy fingers wrap unyielding around his throat.

The world moves on and Varian stays behind, caught forever by that one moment, chained down to the day he lost everything. Shackles of ice and snow and the whisper of betrayal, _she is not coming_ , the horrible breathlessness of returning home to find a corpse.

The cold stays with him for a long time, and it is only when Varian lets go, only when he finally moves to take his place in the sunlight—only then does the last bite of snow from that storm finally fade away, eased by the warmth of coming home. 


	24. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another drabble set in Labyrinths-verse!! Mainly because mirrors are a major theme there, and... I could not think of a different interpretation for this prompt, ahaha.
> 
> Day 24: Mirror  
> Character of Focus: Varian

He is not sure when he first realizes that his reflection does not look right.

It is before—it must be before, Varian thinks. After the storm but before everything truly fell apart. He had worked day and night on breaking the amber, something like hatred festering in his chest, and somewhere along the line he had stopped being able to look himself in the eyes. The glimpses he would see in the amber, the reflections of his own face, tired and worn—shadows under his eyes and a hollowness to his cheeks and in his face. He had not understood what he’d seen, or why it disturbed him. But it had, and soon Varian gave in to the fear and drew a tarp over the amber. To hide his father, and to hide himself.

No more reflections, no more distractions. Varian got back to work.

That had not been the end of it, though it will be a long time indeed until he sees his face proper ever again. The glimpses, the flashes of knowing—this will remain. A frozen puddle, the shine of a store window. His own expression reflected in the eyes of someone else. He can’t stand it. It startles him, each time: he sees a flash of his own face and flinches before he can stop himself.

It is not until the labyrinth—until those stone walls and ugly truths—that Varian finally understands. When he challenges Rapunzel on what she knows of pain and she tells him of a tower. When the Moon smiles down at him and says, _This is as far as you’ll go._ When he dreams of shapeless fog and a mirror hall, and looks into the glass to see a face that isn’t his own.

Mirrors are terrible things. Awful things. They show truths and reflect lies. In the labyrinth, Varian walks down bloody halls and looks into two mirrors. In the first, he sees Rapunzel. In the second, he sees the Moon.

He never finds himself, and this time Varian understands—and knows, now, that after all this time and after everything that has happened, that perhaps he never will. 


	25. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25: Storm  
> Characters of Focus: Main Season 2 Gang

“Oh,” says Rapunzel, watching the sky. “There’s a storm coming.” 

Beside her, sitting on the driver’s ledge of their caravan, Cassandra casts Rapunzel a curious look, before her eyes go to the sky. She squints at the distant horizon and hums thoughtfully. “Huh. Guess so. How’d you know?”

Rapunzel shrugs, bringing up her knees and linking her hands around her shin. “I used to watch them roll in all the time,” she says, thinking back to the tower. “I got used to looking for them, I guess.”

“Useful,” Cassandra murmurs, and then she casts another look out at that distant line of black, and sighs, pulling at the reins. “We’ll have to stop soon if we want time to prepare.”

Rapunzel blinks, then beams and starts climbing in the window back into the caravan. “I’ll tell the others!”

The others are bemused at this change of pace, though none of them seems as excited about the coming storm as Rapunzel. As the rest start to gather supplies for camp, Lance even claps Rapunzel on the back, grinning. “Excited to camp, Princess?”

“I’ve never camped during a storm before,” Rapunzel says, and carefully folds a tarp in two. “I’m excited!”

“It’s just gonna be wet and cold,” Eugene calls back, and Rapunzel shakes her head with a laugh.

“We’ll see!” 

Cassandra stops the caravan early, nestling in a ledge of rock beneath a nearby hill, and starts prepping the caravan for a long few days of rain and lightning. As they set up camp in the dry patches and protected places between caravan and rock, Lance regales Rapunzel with tales of summer storms that he and Eugene used to face back when they were thieves, Eugene interjecting his own input every other sentence. The sleeping beds are arranged and plan rehashed, and then they settle in to watch the storm roll over. 

It takes the rest of the day, and Rapunzel observes the sky cheerfully. First comes the fog, thick and gray, rolling in like a low wave over the sparse trees, seeping through the cracks and dimming the world. Then the sky above turns from blue to gray to black as the heavy clouds roll in, distant booms becoming louder and louder like the beat of drums. And then, at long last—rain. 

It falls sparse, droplets distant and light, dotting the soil with dark patches. The leaves of the evergreen trees sway with coming wind, and then all at once the sky opens up and the water pours. In an instant, the tide changes—droplets becoming a downpour before Rapunzel’s very eyes, battering the soft dirt so hard it creates little dips and grooves in the dirt. It drums off their caravan roof and drips from their rocky shelter. The trees creak and sway to the wind and their branches hang heavy with rainwater. The sky cracks and thunders and roars above them, the world dark and cold. 

Rapunzel watches the rain fall, and smiles. They are huddled around a fire, and Rapunzel leans against Eugene’s side, a cup of cocoa pressed in her open palm by Lance. She wraps her cold fingers around the warm wood, breathing in scented smoke. The air is cold but her friends are warm, and Rapunzel settles in to watch the storm.


	26. Cemetery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is a weird one. It takes place in post-Labyrinths storyline, and kinda pre-daybreaks (which is the post-labyrinths series). So, uh... yeah, its a bit weird timeline wise, ahaha. (Sorry for writing so many Labyrinth-based drabbles by the way!! I swear I have some more canon-based stuff too coming soon!!)
> 
>  
> 
> Day 26: Cemetery  
> Character of Focus: Varian

The first time Varian visits the grave, he does not know what to do with himself. He wasn’t here for the funeral, or the ceremony. It is the first time he has seen it—the first time the reality has sunk in. Rapunzel takes him to the gravesite and Varian stays there for hours, kneeling in the dirt, staring at the headstone and trying to come to terms with who it is for.

The second time Varian sees the grave, it is two years later and Varian is twenty. The second time is little better than the first. He sits up a little straighter this time, back not so bowed, and manages to speak, a bit. But the words still stutter and his hands still twist, and shame is a familiar burn in the back of his throat. Things have changed but he still has trouble believing it, and he cannot look at the headstone for long.

The third time Varian goes to the grave, he is twenty-three and more confident than before. This time he speaks, tells his father in hushed and halting tones of what has happened. He tells his dad of all the years that followed, of his mistakes and failings and the slow trek of returning. He tells him of the labyrinth, of Corona, even of Moon. His voice shakes, and he cries, a bit. But he doesn’t stop until the story finishes, and when he’s done he stands up and brushes the dirt from his clothes. He goes knowing there will be no telling when he’ll be able to come back.

The fourth time Varian visits his father’s grave, he is twenty-five. He enters the cemetery with a straight back and eyes facing forward, hands loose and open by his sides. He brings flowers— gladiolis and daffodils and pink carnations— and these he places carefully at the gravestone with a care most reserve for the living. He sits crosslegged at the grave and doesn’t speak. His back is straight, expression at ease. He does not look for the guards, he does not hide. Hanging heavy around his neck, the stylized sun, the crest of Corona, swings in the breeze. It marks him: royal alchemist, royal advisor. 

Forgiven. 

On the fourth time Varian visits his father’s grave, he is silent, and he brings flowers. When he goes it is with a smile, and this time, he brushes his fingers against the stone before he leaves, fingers catching on the name.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, Dad,” Varian says, turning back to the castle. He gives the grave one last look, and then he goes home to where his family is waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladioli flowers and daffodils are usual funeral flowers, representing strength of character and sincerity, and renewal. Pink carnations are said to stand for remembrance of a deceased loved one.


	27. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27: Ghost  
> Characters of Focus: Rapunzel, Varian

Rapunzel’s tower is great and big and lovely, and it is also very, very lonely.

It’s not always lonely, of course. She has Mother, when Mother is here. It’s just that now that Rapunzel is older—almost ten!—Mother doesn’t stay in the tower all that much anymore. Sometimes she still sleeps over, and she always visits, but… Rapunzel spends a lot of nights alone, now, and she’s had to make more dinners for herself than she did before. Mother says it’s all a part of growing up—taking on responsibilities, taking care of yourself, not being a bother—so Rapunzel doesn’t mind it much, even if it is lonely. And besides Mother, she has Pascal, who never leaves, and is starting to get _really_ good at chess, so that’s nice too. 

But Mother isn’t here much anymore, and sometimes it hurts. It’s so quiet up here. The tower is small and empty and quiet, and even Rapunzel’s colorful paints can’t quite ease the chill. Pascal is a good friend, but he can’t talk to her the way Mother can, and sometimes the quiet gets to her. But Rapunzel is still trying to stay positive. She’s a big girl now, Mother said. She’s got to act grown-up. Mother had said that too—Mother has said that just recently, when Rapunzel broke down and started crying when Mother said she was leaving again, for _three_ days this time. Mother told her she was being selfish, didn’t she know Mother had to leave, didn’t she know that Mother was doing all this for _her?_ She’d scolded until Rapunzel felt smaller than even Pascal, and then she’d left anyway. And now Rapunzel is here—lingering at the window and watching Mother go, hating herself for crying and messing things up, for making the goodbye ugly and acting like a child. 

Rapunzel wipes at her eyes and tries to stand taller, feeling thin and small. Mother has disappeared by now, gone past the cliff wall, and Rapunzel stares at the curtain of ivy and prays Mother will come back. She’s so sorry. She wants to say sorry. She wants Mother to smile at her again. Rapunzel always hates making Mother upset.

Her lip trembles at the thought, and Rapunzel puts her head in her hands, scrubbing at her eyes and trying not cry. For some reason this makes the urge worse, though, and before Rapunzel knows it, she’s crying again, hiccuping and wailing and being everything Mother wouldn’t want her to be.

 _Shh,_ says a voice, then. _It’s okay._

Rapunzel startles, head snapping up. She draws in a shaking breath and looks around, a sliver of fear pricking her heart. The room is empty. Even Pascal isn’t here; he got hurt when Mother saw him and accidentally kicked him in the wall. He’s sleeping. So—what was that?

“…What?”

_Why… why are you crying?_

The voice, again. The empty tower suddenly feels a whole lot more forbidding. Rapunzel draws away. “I… I… w-who’s there?”

_I… oh. That’s— that’s right, you wouldn’t… um, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m—I’m a friend._

She hesitates. The voice—it doesn’t sound evil, or angry, or like anything Mother said outside people voices were like. Rapunzel creeps out from behind her hair, looking around. She can’t see anyone. “A… friend?”

_…Yeah. Do you—do you have friends?_

“I have Pascal.”

_Just… just him?_

She scowls at the air, but it’s watery and thin. “Pascal’s a good friend!”

_Yeah. Yeah. I guess he is. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—upset you. I’m sorry._

The voice really does sound sorry. Rapunzel stares at the floor. She’s still scared, but not as much, now. The voice sounds—nice. Not evil. Breathy and high and young, like her. “It’s okay,” Rapunzel whispers. She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “I wish I had more friends too.”

It’s a whisper of a thought. A secret wish to an empty tower. The voice goes quiet. The air almost seems to ripple.

_We… we could be friends. I mean. If you want?_

She can’t help but giggle at this, smiling past her fear. “You haven’t even introduced yourself, yet! I can’t see you, either.” She turns on her heel, looking up curiously around the room. “How’d you find me?”

_I didn’t mean to be here. I didn’t want to. I… this shouldn’t be—but then maybe that’s the point, I guess. I shouldn’t be here. But I am. That’s just how it is._

Rapunzel tilts her head. “What are you talking about?” 

 _Nothing important,_ the voice says, at last. The air ripples in the corner of her eyes, and Rapunzel whirls around, eyes wide, breath catching. For a moment the fear returns, sharp like a knife to the chest.

Before her eyes, the air ripples, bright and blue. Then it firms, like fog or mist drawing into a shape, and then suddenly—a boy. There is a boy.

He is unlike anything Rapunzel has ever seen—faded and transparent, colored a pale blue and glowing with a faint white glow. He is only a few years older then her, with dark messy hair and bright eyes. Freckles glow like stars on his see-through skin. He’s dressed in a tattered shirt and pants, bare-foot and battered. There is a strange dark circle in the center of his chest.

He should scare her, and in a way, he does—but then he smiles, and his teeth aren’t pointed and his voice was kind, and—and Rapunzel is lonely, so very lonely. She wants a friend, and she thinks—this boy has a nice smile.

The strange boy doesn’t speak right away. He looks at her like he’s seeing someone else, but his smile is very real—faint and wavering and uncertain, like he’s afraid of her, too. And suddenly Rapunzel feels a whole lot better about it all.

A strike of bravery has her stepping forward. “There you are,” she says, and takes a breath and offers him a smile. “You’ve been here… all along?”

He flickers, like a light. _I… I think so? I was asleep, for a long time, and then… then I was here._ Something odd enters his voice. _You were… crying?_

Rapunzel’s smile falters at the reminder. Mother would be so disappointed. “I didn’t mean to,” she admits in a quiet whisper, then straightens with a smile. “But if… if you were here all along, then you aren’t from outside, so—so you’re good, right? That means you’re a good person?” Please, she thinks to herself. Please be good. “And if you are, then… can—can we be friends? We _can_ be friends.”

The boy stares at her as if she’s the odd one, and then for a moment his eyes flicker to the window. Something strange crosses the boy’s face then—something dark and unreadable and strangely sad, an inner horror that Rapunzel cannot understand. Then his eyes go back to her. This time his smile is stronger—still shaky, but more genuine.

 _Sure,_ he says, in that same whispery sort voice. _We can be friends._ He smiles, and for a moment Rapunzel almost thinks there’s tears in his eyes, but he’s just too bright to tell. _I… I’m Varian._

Rapunzel is so giddy she could almost start crying all over again. “I’m—I’m Rapunzel!” 

He is bright and shining and sad, but he is here, and that is enough. _It’s nice to meet you,_ the boy says, quiet and strangled, and for the first time in a long time, Rapunzel doesn’t feel quite so alone anymore.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Rapunzel parrots, and beams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what this is. Time-traveling ghost au? I just really thought it'd be a cool idea if Rapunzel had another friend in the tower, this invisible friend who wouldn't have to hide all the time since Gothel couldn't see him. She's probably gonna meet Varian-who-is-still-alive at some point and just "!??!???"
> 
> Ghost!Varian died post-season 1. Probably not in prison. Maybe something similar to what happened in my fic mild inconvenience, only he doesn't come back after?? Hmmmm....
> 
> Any thoughts??


	28. Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean this to be shippy, but it kinda turned shippy. Let's be honest though, Lance/Cassandra?? SO CUTE.
> 
> Day 28: Costumes  
> Characters of Focus: Lance, Cassandra

“This was a terrible idea,” Cassandra says.

Lance tugs at his stiff vest and keeps on smiling, though he fakes a stumble and places a dramatic hand against his chest to feign hurt at the comment. “My dear lady Cassandra!” he says, all false injury. “Are you insulting my costuming skills?” 

The dear lady in question rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the edge of those pale lips, and Lance rests the urge to grin. Ha-ha, he’s got her. Score one for Lance!

“It’s not that,” she murmurs back, sounding exasperatedly fond, and Lance beams to hear it. Aw yeah, she’s totally amused. Double score. “Your costumes are… actually pretty good. I just meant the plan as a whole.”

His costumes are pretty good, Lance knows; he’s gone all out, and it’s a real killer. He’s currently cutting a very dashing figure in these reds and purples, with some beautiful gold to top it off; Cassandra fits the whole theme wonderfully as well, clothed in a gorgeous deep blue gown with a clasped choker neckline and slit sides. Lance has tailored it just for her, and he knows it looks good. Even better, the slit sides means it’s an easy transition from killer dress to fight-ready formal wear, so he knew going in the Cassandra would like it too. 

Lance still preens at the praise, off-hand through it was, and puffs out his chest. “I am the best!”

She rolls her eyes at him again—her bright, pretty eyes, Lance think with a sigh—but she’s still on the verge of smiling, so Lance knows she’s actually having a fun time. “The pretty costumes won’t help when this all crashes down on our heads, Lance.”

She’s right about that, unfortunately. Lance loves that cheerful princess like a sister, but infiltrating this high-society noble party of corrupt people who make the Baron look like a saint isn’t one of her brighter ideas. Lance just shrugs.

“Well, no,” he admits. “But at least we’ll look good?” He winks at her. “Just think. You can dazzle as these, ah, ‘ _lovely’_ people with not just your fancy formal wear… but also with your fighting prowess!”

Her very, _very_ impressive fighting prowess. Lance has seen many beautiful things in his travels, but Cassandra fighting? There’s a grace there that can’t be matched, except maybe by her strength of will. It’s absolutely swoon-worthy.

Cassandra snorts, but she is actually smiling now, teeth showing and everything, and it makes something bubbly and golden curl up in Lance’s chest to see it. Oh yeah, he’s done good. Suck it, Eugene, ol’ Lance has still got it!

“You’re ridiculous.” 

Lance winks and draws her into the party. “Maybe,” he says again, because Lance is man enough to know his faults. “But I also happen to be a rather good dancer, if I say so myself, so it evens out, don’t you think?”

She laughs at him but doesn’t disagree, and Lance grins. The plan is most certainly going to hell, but well—this much, at least, makes tonight a good night.

He gives a little bow and offers her a hand. “One dance before the night goes awry?” 

Cassandra shakes her head. But she is smiling, and it is a real smile—a warm smile—and she reaches out to take his hand. Her fingers are cold and tough with callous.

“Just one,” she says, and Lance’s heart beats hard in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Lance can actually sew, it just kinda made sense to me that he could?? That man is talented.


	29. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29: Monster  
> Characters of Focus: Varian, Rudiger

The lab is dark and stifling, and Varian cannot breathe.

He isn’t sure if it’s the air, or from concentration, or just exhaustion. He’s stayed up all night for this, labored for hours over every detail. It has to be perfect. It absolutely has to be. He has come this far, and Varian cannot afford failure.

The vial in his hand glows bright, a green hue so vivid it hurts his eyes to look at it for too long. The glass beaker, even through the protection of his gloves, is hot enough to burn.

Varian carefully adds one final drop to the mixture, and watches the liquid darken, neon green turning a faint glowing emerald.

“…Done,” Varian whispers, staring at it. The beaker is still warm, but no longer boiling. “Done. That is…” His mind casts out, scrambles to remember. His voice scraps in his throat. He can’t remember the last time he slept. “That’s the last thing.”

He turns and smiles. He cannot see himself at this moment, no mirrors or reflections remaining, and perhaps this is for the best. He does not cut the most reassuring figure. Unkept hair and shadowy eyes and a smile that is all desperation, something like hatred darkening his young face.

“C’mon, buddy. Are you ready?” 

Beneath the table, Rudiger looks out. His small beady eyes are sad, dark, fathomless. Varian’s smile falters, just a bit. He reaches out and twitches his fingers again, and something uncertain flickers over his face.

“Rudiger?”

Rudiger bows his head. Then he looks up, and emerges from the table, and jumps up on the workbench as he has every time before, as if nothing has changed. He chitters at Varian, low and soft crooning, meaningless babble. Then he jumps up to Varian’s shoulders.

Varian half raises a hand as if to pet him, then stops. His hand falls. But he is breathing again, even if it’s still uneven, and that strange tension has left his face.

He packs up the vials and the necessary materials—glowing orbs that will create a thick fog, green powder to put the Queen to sleep. He pulls on his heavy work coat, Rudiger a warm weight against his neck, and then he leaves his lab behind him.

It does not take long to reach Corona; two hours at most. The gates are wide and looming, and the sunset is strangely empty. The colors are dull and faded, and even the stars seem reluctant to shine. The rising moon seems bigger than it should be, a watchful eye trained on the world below.

He releases the fog first—great swathes of deep gray mists that creep through the streets like a hunter on the prowl. He fixes his new machine to his side—an instrument that will project his voice for all to hear. They can’t ignore him now. If Varian has his way, they’ll never be able to ignore him again.

Rudiger jumps down from his shoulders without prompting. He sits up and tilts his head, watching as Varian pours the emerald green potion in a shallow dish for him to drink. There is only trust in those blank dark eyes, only love. Varian watches his raccoon lap up every drop of the sickly green liquid without even a hint of hesitation.

He isn’t smiling anymore, but it is too late now for both of them, and a monster takes to the streets—just as he intended. Just like he wanted.

Varian pushes past the knot in his throat, takes another breath, and begins to speak.


	30. Haunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the idea that Varian takes after his mom. I feel like a lot of times, sons are often compared to their dads?? So to have that reversal is really nice.
> 
> Day 30: Haunt  
> Characters of Focus: Adira, Varian

He looks like his mother, Adira thinks. 

It surprises her, to say the least. Adira has only met the woman once, and briefly, and while Quirin’s wife had made a good impression, Adira has known Quirin for far longer. It makes sense, she thinks, to see Quirin first in this boy’s face—but she doesn’t.

His eyes, his face, the sideways slant to his smile. He is his mother’s son. Her freckles, her slim form, those thin fingers. Even the way he walks—restless, always moving, spinning to and fro as if to stop moving is to die—the woman had been like that, too. The one time Adira had met her, and she had sat back and watched as Quirin’s wife flittered to and fro, newborn child held in the crook of her elbow and arm as she spoke, and moved, and worked. Her words rushed and babbling, sly jokes and snorting laughter. 

Adira can see so much of that woman in this boy’s face; he is an echo of another time. The whisper of her laughter and life, a treasure inherited by her son. The alchemy is new, and so is the sarcasm, but his face, and his smile—for a boy who likely does not even remember his mother, he is very much like her.

Yet, if she looks, Adira can see Quirin in him as well. The scowl helps. The coloring of his hair—even that blue streak, she knows; Quirin had one too, when he was his boy’s age, until he got annoyed with it and cut it out after too much teasing from Adira. His ears stick out—like Quirin, and the way he holds himself is like viewing a memory of the past. 

This boy is his own person, Adira knows. He is distinct from both his parents, he is himself, and whatever choices he makes will be his alone. But Adira is older now, and perhaps sentimental—and all she can think, looking down at this scrappy and scowling child, is how much he looks the parents he left behind, forever haunted by their memories and their mistakes. 


	31. Lantern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand DONE!!!! That's the last of them! Thank you guys so much for sticking through this challenge with me, and for your support and lovely comments!!! This was really fun, and I hope you guys enjoyed these drabbles as much as I did writing them!! ❤️
> 
> Day 31: Lantern  
> Characters of Focus: Varian, Rapunzel, Eugene, Cassandra

The sky is bright with an array of colors. Twilight stretches on over the expanse, purples and reds and oranges rippling across a once-blue sky. Even as he watches, however, the colors are fading—darkness creeping up on the edges, a comforting black swallowing it all, the glint of stars at the edges of the world.

The sun is setting over Corona, and it is beautiful. 

“You’re late.” 

Varian turns, smiling; there is a laugh trapped in his throat. “No, I’m not,” he says, amused at the accusation. “It’s not even dark yet.”

Cassandra doesn’t smile, but she does roll her eyes. “Then you were _almost_ late.”

This time he does laugh, and though it’s quiet, it is still real. They are not quiet yet friends, Cassandra and Varian. She has not yet forgiven him, and maybe she never will. But they are okay, and so: Varian smiles. “Do you have idea how hard it is to sneak into this city without being caught?”

“Considering you’ve never had any trouble before,” Cassandra drawls, “it must horrifically easy.”

He laughs again; he can’t help it. Cassandra gives him a small smile in return and gestures him to follow her.

“Come on, then. We’ve been waiting.”

The words make him startle, and he stumbles after her, smile faltering just a bit. Then it rises again. “Right,” he says. “Right.”

She looks back at him, but doesn’t comment. Varian is grateful for it.

The others are waiting, just as Cassandra said—cloaked and hidden in the shadows of the dock, a wide and flat canoe tied to the post. Rapunzel sees them first; he can hear her cry of delight, and she pulls back her hood, a flash of short brown hair and bright eyes before she barrels into Varian for a hug.

“You made it!”

 _Of course,_ Varian could say, but he bites it back and replies, instead, “Why does everyone keep saying that? Just how unreliable do you all think I am?”

Rapunzel laughs, and pulls away with a wide grin. “I’m glad you came,” she says, because she’s always heard what is meant rather than what is said, and Varian turns red and looks at the dock.

Rapunzel laughs again, and her hand squeezes at his shoulder before she turns away, her other arm looping through Cassandra’s as she tugs them both to the dock. “Hurry, hurry! The sun is setting, we’ve got to get out there before it’s too late!”

Varian glances at the sky. There are still reds and purples remaining, but the stars are more numerous now, so he shrugs and follows.

They get in the boat one-by-one; Varian is the least experienced of them, and he stumbles trying to climb in. Eugene grabs his arm and helps him sit with a fond grin. Varian flushes again and a snappish comment rises on his tongue—he bites it back and kicks the bottom of the boat, instead.

“…Thanks.”

Eugene just grins. “No sea legs?” 

The teasing tone releases the edge of tension. Varian huffs. “Who needs sea legs, anyway?”

“Corona is a coastal kingdom,” says Cassandra, with mild inflection; her eyes shine with laughter when Varian points wordlessly at her and splutters.

Rapunzel herself just about falls onto the boat. The whole things rocks and sways, and Varian bites back a high-pitched shriek as he clings at the edge for dear life. When the boat finally settles, Rapunzel is laughing again. It is still strange to see her without her golden hair, but it is less strange like this—when she is happy and laughing, she looks like herself.

“Sorry!” Rapunzel is saying, but she’s giggling so hard she can barely speak. “I keep forgetting how boats work.”

“I take it back,” says Varian. “You are worse than me,” and this comment sends the whole boat into fits, this time.

By the time they steer the boat into the still waters of the bay, the sky is near black, stars glittering like jewels above their heads. Varian lectures Rapunzel on physics and water and surface tension, how things float and why jumping in a boat is a bad idea; Rapunzel listens with an indulgent and fond smile; Cassandra closes her eyes and tilts back her head to soak in the wind; Eugene watches love them all, smiling to himself, looking like he can hardly believe the moment is real.

When the barest hint of color remains on the horizon, they all go quiet, a hush falling on some unspoken cue. Rapunzel turns to the castle, and Varian follows her gaze, a pinch in his gut. It has been years. It strikes him suddenly, the weight of time. Varian is eighteen years old now, nineteen in five months. On this eve, Rapunzel has just turned twenty-three.

The first lantern rises from the silent city, and Varian watches it ascend.

The rest of the world follows after. He can see a rising glow as every city lantern is set aflame, the wind lifting these new lanterns up to follow the first. Then the boats, and the coastal dwellers, then the smaller groups of people on the islands nearby. The lanterns rise and the stars vanish under the steady glow of a million lights.

A hand touches at his shoulder; Varian jumps, turning. Eugene grins at him, and Cassandra shakes her head. Rapunzel just holds out a lantern. They all have one. Heavy canvas cloth with ash-gray designs painted on with a steady hand. Rapunzel’s lantern has a bird, Eugene’s a key. Cassandra’s has a sword.

Varian looks down at the lantern in Rapunzel’s hand, and sees the Corona crest, the spiral edges of the sun.

He takes it slowly, gently, uncertain of what to do. It has been a long time since he’s done this. He looks up, and thinks for a moment he wants to say something—but the words stick, and he stops and shakes his head, speechless.

Rapunzel smiles like she understands anyway, and hands him a match.

It is enough. Varian smiles back, and when he takes the match his hands have steadied. He waits, watchful and silent—Rapunzel lets her lantern fly up first, then Eugene, then Cassandra. Varian strikes his match last. He lights the wick and watches how the tiny flame lights up the painted sun. Then he smiles, and raises his hand.

His lantern rises up to join all the others, and Varian watches it fly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble could be a general happy ending.... and it could also be post-Labyrinths! I haven't really decided, so, up to u guys!!
> 
> Thank you again for sticking through this challenge with me. It was a lot of fun, and your comments always made me smile!! I promise to respond as soon as I can!! ❤️❤️❤️

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to Tangledtober, I am also participating in OC-tober!! The stories for those prompts can be found [here,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160414/chapters/37759631) under the title "the lives that rise around us." I haven't shared much of my Tangled OCs yet, so I'm hoping this will encourage me to be more open about them!! 
> 
> Additionally, while OC-tober is mostly just so I get a handle on these characters, there will also be glimpses and hints to people and plot points that will become important in other works of mine, most notably my fics _Labyrinths of the Heart_ and _its just a mild inconvenience_. 
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this drabble, and please, let me know what you thought!! Feedback is always appreciated. ❤️


End file.
